


a slow, dumb show

by redluxite (wordstruck)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (does this qualify as a fake dating au), (the keith pining is all implied tho), 7 Days AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Curtis But He's Not Important, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Seven Days AU, Sheith Month 2018, moderate angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-06-12 10:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15337653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/redluxite
Summary: Shiro shrugs. “No.” His lips quirk in a little half-smile. “Areyougoing to ask me?”Keith’s mouth curls, just a little. His eyes flick over to Shiro again.“Why not?”Shiro comically stumbles to a halt. “Sorry?”There’s that amusement tucked in the corner of Keith’s mouth again, as he reaches out a hand to steady the pizzas in Shiro’s arms. They’re quite close together now.“Do you want to go out with me?”





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a Sheith Month fill for the eternal/ **choices** prompt, but it got well away from me and I wasn't able to finish it in time. I've had ideas for a Sheith 7 Days AU for a while now, but never did get around to working them all into a coherent story until now. It's less _based on_ the 7 Days manga and more _loosely inspired by_ the plot, but the premise remains – Keith asks Shiro out on a Monday, and gets seven days with him.
> 
> I'll be posting these one "day" at a time ^ ^ But the whole story is more or less written out. Ko-fi(/angelitacreates) donors can request early access to the rest of the story! (And you can leave me tips there, too.)
> 
> I was going to post this as a completed fic but I also realized there's a lot of fun in reading it one day at a time hehehe. The title is from Slow Show by The National, aka my whole vibe for these two pining idiots. I'm well aware I have an Iwaoi fic with the same title but we're using it anyway.
> 
> Thank you [@lionescence](https://twitter.com/lionescence) for beta-ing and cheerleading this fic ❤︎ And for making sure the English made sense, since I wrote most of this between the hours of 10pm and 5am while terribly sleep-deprived. Nobody ask how many times I called Keith "Sheaf" or "Kale" without realizing. There might _still_ be stupid errors, so I'll retrospectively edit as needed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has his face tilted to the sun, eyes closed as he leans back against the wall of the plant box bordering the stairs. He looks so peaceful, Shiro wonders if he isn’t asleep.
> 
> Shiro doesn’t realize he’s been staring so long until he blinks and Keith’s looking up at him, one eyebrow quirked, amusement tucked away in the corner of his mouth.
> 
> “Good morning,” Keith says dryly, from where he’s sprawled on the steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off!

* * *

 

Shiro honestly hadn’t been expecting it.

He knows, of course, that it’s Monday, knows what’s coming. He doesn’t even remember how it had started – some rumor, perhaps, or maybe after that one time that Jack had asked him out on a Monday and Shiro had broken up with them the Sunday after, smiling sadly because Jack was a nice enough person but it just wasn’t quite right. Whatever the reason, it’s inevitable now that someone comes up to him on a Monday to confess, to ask if he won’t go out with them. And he’ll give them a week, be the perfect gentleman, try his best to make it work.

It usually doesn’t.

Allura drops him off at the school entrance with a smile and a wave, then heads off to find a parking space. He’d resented it at first, after the accident, being ferried to and from school like this. He misses his hoverbike, misses the wind tearing past him as he’d take it out of the city to the desert beyond. But until he’s been cleared by the doctors; until he’s gotten used to the strange, articulated prosthetic that’s replaced his right arm—

Shiro rolls his shoulder and shakes the maudlin thoughts from his mind. He’s already almost late; no need to stand outside school and ruminate like an idiot.

He’s walking up to the building when he notices someone sitting on the steps outside.

It’s not odd at a university, given all the differing class times, but Shiro’s attention flicks over anyway. And then he recognizes the boy on the steps, hair a wispy mess all over his face, jacket tied around his waist and freckled shoulders exposed in a loose black tank top.

Keith has his face tilted to the sun, eyes closed as he leans back against the wall of the plant box bordering the stairs. He looks so peaceful, Shiro wonders if he isn’t asleep.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Keith, but it’s the first time he’s seen the boy so – quiet, somehow; settled. Keith as Shiro knows him (knows _of_ him) is an enigma; he’s one of the top students in his year, but there’s more discontent than admiration when people talk about him. They’re both on the football team, but Keith had been on the B-squad last season, and now Shiro’s been absent for months. And while Shiro’s seen him with a ragtag group of friends – that includes Matt’s younger sibling, Pidge – Keith’s more often alone, distant and unbothered by the world around him.

Shiro doesn’t realize he’s been staring so long until he blinks and Keith’s looking up at him, one eyebrow quirked, amusement tucked away in the corner of his mouth.

“Good morning,” Keith says dryly, from where he’s sprawled on the steps.

“Oh.” Shiro recollects his wits, clears his throat. Hopes he’s not blushing too hard. “Sorry, uh. Good morning.”

The corner of Keith’s mouth twitches, just a bit. “Monday got your tongue?”

Shiro stares at him for a moment before letting out a startled laugh. “No, just – you caught me thinking, is all.”

(Caught Shiro off-guard, more like it; he hadn’t known Keith could manage that sort of wry humor.)

Keith’s looking at him slantwise now, like he’s trying to suss out what Shiro’s thinking. Then he turns away, pushing off the wall to stretch his arms overhead (and Shiro gets distracted by the muscles of his shoulders as they shift in the sunlight). “You’re pretty late today, though,” he segues, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His head tips to the side, expression mischievous. “Avoiding people because it’s Monday?”

It almost makes Shiro do a double-take, because – “what would _you_ know about that?”

(What would Keith know about Shiro at all, really. Shiro knows people like to talk about him, give him a reputation, but he wouldn’t have thought it’d matter to Keith.)

Keith shrugs, mouth pinched around what is undoubtedly a smirk. “Word gets around,” is all he says. His gaze shifts past Shiro, out to the street, like he’s looking for something.

Shiro follows his line of sight, craning his head to look behind himself. “Waiting for someone?” he asks, turning back when he finds nothing there.

“Yeah, we–” He’s cut off by the far-off rattle of a motor; a few moments later, a delivery bike pulls up by the sidewalk. The familiar, purple _Vrepit Sal’s_ is splashed across the rear box. Keith gets up, dusting his pants off and rolling his shoulders. He nods at the bike. “We ordered pizza,” he concludes.

Shiro watches him walk over to the delivery boy, who turns over two large pizzas – that smell greasy, unhealthy, and absolutely wonderful – and a bottle of Coke. Keith’s got less limbs than can carry all of it, so Shiro patters after him and relieves him of the pizzas while Keith goes to pay.

Except—

Red blooms on Keith’s cheeks as he pats his pockets, then rifles through his jacket. His expression pinches as he grimaces.

“Fuck,” he says, eloquently. “Pidge still has my wallet.”

 

Ten minutes and some arguing later, Shiro finds himself helping carry the pizzas to the quad where Pidge and the rest are apparently waiting, catching a free period since their professor is absent. There’s still a light dusting of pink over the bridge of Keith’s nose, no matter that Shiro had reassured him it was fine, he didn’t mind paying, Keith can pay him back if he absolutely wants to. Then again, Shiro muses, it does seem rather like Keith to mind that sort of thing.

“Sorry,” Keith says again for the fifth time. He hadn’t even wanted to let Shiro carry the pizzas, but Shiro had insisted. As it is, Keith’s hugging the bottle of Coke to his chest like it could possibly shield him, unheeding of the damp spot that’s growing on his shirt.

An embarrassed Keith shouldn’t be this endearing, and yet here Shiro is.

“It’s fine,” he replies, also for the fifth time, trying to suppress a smile. It probably still shows, because Keith shoots him a glare before looking determinedly ahead.

They walk another few meters in silence before Keith makes a considering noise. When Shiro looks at him curiously, Keith shakes his head.

“So _has_ anyone asked you, yet?” His voice is light, careless. He gives Shiro a little sideways glance.

(Later, Shiro will blame the look in Keith’s stunning, violet-grey eyes for distracting him into answering so candidly. He’s never known someone with a look that’s quite as magnetic.)

Shiro shrugs. “No.” His lips quirk in a little half-smile. “Are _you_ going to ask me?”

Keith’s mouth curls, just a little. His eyes flick over to Shiro again.

“Why not?”

Shiro comically stumbles to a halt. “Sorry?”

There’s that amusement tucked in the corner of Keith’s mouth again, as he reaches out a hand to steady the pizzas in Shiro’s arms. They’re quite close together now.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

 

(Yes. Yes, he does.)

 

Shiro makes it class barely on time and out of breath. In exchange for his troubles, he’s got Keith’s university email in his phone and the sound of his own name in that smooth, lilting voice.

_See you around then, Shiro._

Allura raises her eyebrows at him as he slides into the seat beside her, just a few seconds ahead of their professor. Shiro offers a sheepish little grin, waves away her questioning look as Professor Thace strides in and calls for a quiz.

He knows better than to think he’s headed her off, though, so he’s expecting it when they’re dismissed and she sidles right up to his desk before he’s even finished packing.

“So why _were_ you late?” she asks, all big eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

Shiro makes her suffer a little longer by taking his time putting his notebooks away. Her peeved expression when he looks up is worth it.

“I bought Keith some pizza,” he answers blithely, because if he’s honest it all still feels a little surreal.

“Keith?” Allura’s pretty eyes go wide. “Kogane?”

Shiro hums in assent, standing up and shouldering his bag. “Caught him on the steps.”

“I see.” There’s a small, perplexed furrow in Allura’s brow. Shiro empathizes, he really does. “But why?”

It takes Shiro a moment to answer, because he’s not sure how to condense this morning’s events into one, coherent answer. He’s not sure how to tell her about the way Keith had looked sitting on the steps, dappled in the mid-morning sun, and how it’d made Shiro just – stop and look at him. The amusement hiding in the corner of Keith’s mouth, an expression Shiro had never seen, never expected. The mischievous slant to his expression.

Those stunning eyes that had drawn Shiro in with a pull like that of the cosmos.

“Well,” he says, smiling despite himself. “Apparently we’re dating now.”

 

The rest of Monday passes by in a blur of lectures and lunchtime. When he gets out of a mind-numbing class by Professor Ryner, he’s almost ready to write this morning off as a hallucination or a dream. But there’s a notification on his phone, from the university messenger system.

 **k.kogane16** > _coming to practice?_

Shiro looks at his phone for a few moments, admittedly surprised. When he’d offered to exchange emails, he hadn’t expected Keith to message this soon, let alone message first.

He also remembers chiding Keith about not being at morning practice, before he’d left Keith with his friends and his pizzas. It warms him a bit, that Keith had taken that seriously.

 **t.shirogane14** < _PT, so not today. You missed this morning, though, so you need to go._

The reply comes while he’s waiting for Allura outside her classroom.

 **k.kogane16** > _yeah, yeah_  
**k.kogane16** > _would be more interesting with you, though_

Shiro rolls his eyes.

 **t.shirogane14** < _You’re not training for me._  
**t.shirogane14** < _You’re a good striker. It’s better for everyone that you’re there._

Allura shows up then, looking absolutely drained from her lecture on ideology in politics. Shiro pats her on the shoulder sympathetically and suggests they get coffee before he goes to the hospital. She throws her arms around him in relief, then spends the walk to her car venting about how Professor Kolivan makes his lessons unnecessarily difficult.

It’s not until Shiro takes his phone out, itching for something to do while sitting in an uncomfortable waiting room chair at the hospital, that he realizes Keith hasn’t replied.

 

Shiro gets back to his apartment feeling particularly drained, shoulder sore from therapy exercises and head hurting from the long day he’s had. All he wants to do is crawl under his blankets and go to sleep, but he needs to get the smell of hospital off him and he needs to eat something more substantial than cafeteria sandwiches. After a quick but thorough shower, he emerges into his bedroom damp and wondering what’s still in his tiny kitchen that’s edible.

His phone is flashing a notification. Curious, Shiro pads over and double-taps the screen.

 **k.kogane16** > _good night, shiro_

He blinks at the screen, then smiles.

  
**t.shirogane14** < _Good night, Keith. Sleep well._


	2. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Checking to make sure his earbuds are in place, Shiro picks up. “Hello?”
> 
> “I hate you,” comes the sleep-raspy mumble down the line, followed by a yawn. “Why are you even already awake?”
> 
> It startles a laugh out of Shiro, a snort that he quickly aborts by coughing into his fist. “I’m going to a morning run before I leave for school,” he says, biting down on a smile. And then, apologetically, “did I wake you? I didn’t mean to.”
> 
> “Mm.” There’s a rustling noise, and Shiro’s suddenly caught by the thought that Keith is still in bed. That riot of dark hair is probably sleep-mussed, sticking up everywhere. Shiro wonders if there are creases on Keith’s cheek, if he makes noise while he’s dead to the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, this is more of _loosely inspired_ by 7 Days and less _based on_ , so I ended up playing around w the characteristics and events of the original canon a lot. I couldn't resist keeping that phone conversation, tho ^ ^

* * *

 

As he always does on weekdays, Shiro wakes up at 6:15am to the jangle of his alarm. He fumbles over the sheets for a few moments, trying to find where he’d dropped his phone last night before falling asleep. Offending noise silenced, he buries his face in the pillows for a few moments longer before resigning himself to the start of another day, and going to take a piss.

Quick clean-up, breakfast, check notifications: Shiro goes through his morning routine on autopilot, changes into joggers and an old shirt. As he unlocks his phone to call up his workout playlist, Shiro thinks back to last night and the little sign-off Keith had given him.

He opens the messenger app first.

 **t.shirogane14** < _Good morning!_

As soon as he sends it, he wonders if it’s too short, if it comes off as callous, if the exclamation point is too much. Then he realizes that he sounds like an idiot, and goes off for his morning jog.

He’s halfway to the nearby park when his music is interrupted by an ringtone. Confused, Shiro takes his phone out of its holster around his upper arm and frowns at the display.

_Incoming Call: k.kogane16_

Huh.

Checking to make sure his earbuds are in place, Shiro picks up. “Hello?”

“I hate you,” comes the sleep-raspy mumble down the line, followed by a yawn. “Why are you even already awake?”

It startles a laugh out of Shiro, a snort that he quickly aborts by coughing into his fist. “I’m going on a morning run before I leave for school,” he says, biting down on a smile. And then, apologetically, “did I wake you? I didn’t mean to.”

“Mm.” There’s a rustling noise, and Shiro’s suddenly caught by the thought that Keith is still in bed. That riot of dark hair is probably sleep-mussed, sticking up everywhere. Shiro wonders if there are creases on Keith’s cheek, if he makes noise while he’s dead to the world. There’s another yawn. “You owe me for that. Who the fuck goes running at the asscrack of dawn, anyway?”

The tone is so petulant that this time Shiro can’t restrain his laughter, slumping against a nearby streetlamp. Not even the grumbling on the other end of the line puts him off. “It’s a perfectly sensible routine,” he says, when he’s caught his breath. “Besides, you should be getting up soon. Training starts at seven.”

There’s a pause, which reminds Shiro about how Keith hadn’t responded yesterday after a similar exchange. He wonders if he’s hit a nerve, somewhere, and if he should apologize. But then there’s muffled, strained noise, and a huff in a crackle of static.

“What time does your first class start?”

Shiro blinks, caught by the non-sequitur. “Today? Uh.” It takes him a moment to remember his schedule. “Eleven.”

“Good.” There’s another rustling noise, followed by the sound of running water. “You’re bringing me coffee after practice. It’s the only way I’ll make it through the rest of the day with my brain intact.”

Shiro coughs out another laugh. “Do you want breakfast with that?”

“Nah, I’ll get something in a bit.” A few splashing sounds. Keith’s voice fades a little at the end, like he’s holding the phone away, before coming back. “You woke me up half an hour early, anyway.”

Shiro grins sheepishly, even if Keith can’t see him. “Sorry.”

“Iced double shot mocha,” Keith says, but there’s humor in his voice. “I’ll see you later, I should go get changed.”

Shiro hums his assent. “See you.”

For a few moments after Keith’s rung off, Shiro stays where he is, smiling down at his phone. There’s a small bloom of warmth in his chest after the surprisingly pleasant conversation. It had felt – natural, somehow. Like they always talk to each other, first thing in the morning.

Shaking his head, Shiro restarts his music and tucks the phone back in its holster. He mentally revises his morning routine to include a stop at the on-campus coffee shop before meeting Keith at the pitch at 9:30. Maybe he’ll even be a little early, see how the team is getting on without him.

Then he gets up, stretches, and gets back to his run.

 

Shiro ends up in the bleachers overlooking the football pitch a little past 9am, insulated tumbler of coffee in hand and scarf wrapped around his neck against the September chill. He’s made it in time to catch the team’s seven-a-side scrimmage. Keith’s on the white team, shirt plastered to his chest with sweat as he dispossesses Lance and sprints up the pitch, headed for goal.

The keeper – a bulky, soft-spoken guy named Hunk – doesn’t stand a chance as Keith feints left, then rolls the ball forward and sends a beautiful, right-footed shot right into the top corner.

Shiro whistles, low and impressed. He’s not sure even he could have stopped his shot.

Watching Keith on the pitch inevitably reminds Shiro of himself on the pitch. They play different positions, of course, but it’s there in the set of Keith’s shoulders and the way his presence seems to magnetize everyone’s awareness. He’s already walking back to the center of the pitch, ball under his arm, ignoring Lance’s attempts to convince their assistant coach that Keith had fouled him in the build-up to the goal.

Shiro knows what he’d looked like, when he’d been on the pitch. Strong, commanding; a looming and indomitable figure between the sticks, the captain and last line of defense. He’s had enough people come up to him and confess they’d fallen in love with the way he plays, how he looks so sure of himself out there.

 _Shiro the Hero,_ they’d call him, when his saves would win them a match, win them the championship. When he’d stand steadfast on the line, turning himself into an impenetrable, one-man wall.

They go out with Shiro expecting that seemingly stoic, unyielding myth in front of goal, putting him on a pedestal even if he’s never liked being held so high. And when he inevitably can’t change their perspective, well.

Then after the accident, things had just gotten worse.

A cheer from somewhere further down the bleachers startles him out of his slightly self-deprecating reverie. He looks up to see a group of girls sitting lower down. They shout excitedly as Keith collects a pass by the halfway line and races to the goal again.

 _This_ is the Keith that Shiro’s most familiar with. Hair matted to his forehead, expression focused; all deft footwork and breathtaking instinct on the pitch. Able to turn a game on its head with quick thinking and a brilliant touch of the ball.

Something twists inside of Shiro as he watches Keith and thinks, _I want to be there._

The fingers of his prosthetic curl against his thigh.

Keith doesn’t make the goal; he beats a defender’s last-ditch tackle, but Hunk catches his low shot, point-blank, and the succeeding goal kick is the last play of the game. Still, his side runs out the winner, 2-0, so it’s not too bad.

As the players walk to the sideline, Keith looks up, eyes searching the bleachers. His gaze skips past the scattered groups of people watching the scrimmage – he ignores the girls as they call out to him – before falling on Shiro where he’s tucked up near the top, bag at his feet.

To Shiro’s surprise, Keith lifts a hand and waves. They’re too far away from each other to see, but Keith might even be smiling.

After a moment’s hesitation, Shiro waves back.

The other players are looking up, curious of who Keith’s greeting. It’s Lance who spots him first, giving a whoop and brandishing his hands excitedly.

“Shiro!” he yells, and _that_ gets everyone else’s attention quickly. Shiro figures it’s too late to hide, so he waves politely to Lance, too. And then, because Lance is gesticulating at him excitedly and the rest of the team is starting to greet him as well, he decides he might as well head down.

(The closer he gets, the more conscious he is of the state-of-the-art plastic and metal that have replaced flesh and bone, the discordance of artificial and human that he’s still unused to. His hand tightens around the tumbler. His smile feels tight.)

“Hey,” Shiro says, once he’s within earshot. The old-timers, Antok and Rolo and the others, return greeting. Rolo claps him on the shoulder, grinning. Even their coach gives him a warm smile.

“Shiro!” Lance bounds up to him, Hunk in tow. “Were you watching the match? What did you think? Pretty good, huh?”

Not for the first time, Shiro wonders how Keith’s let himself be friends with Lance, who’s overwhelming enough on his best days. But ever the responsible captain (even when he’s not the captain), Shiro smiles and pats him on the shoulder.

“Pretty good, yeah,” he says warmly. Then he turns to Hunk. “You did great too. That was a nice save on Keith in that last play.”

“Yeah?” Hunk perks up, looking genuinely pleased. “I mean, I missed that second goal, didn’t have a chance, but the last save felt pretty good.”

“I don’t think I could have saved that either,” Shiro admits, which draws some protests from Lance and a few other players. At the mention of Keith, though, Shiro looks around to find the striker standing back and watching them with an inscrutable expression. When Shiro catches his eye, quirking his head and raising an eyebrow, Keith just gives him a wry smile and shakes his head.

“—and anyway, when are you coming back?”

Lance’s question snaps Shiro out of the moment, back to the discomfiting feeling he’d had on his way down to the pitch. He keeps his smile carefully in place as he turns back to the other players, one shoulder – left shoulder – lifting in a half-shrug.

“The doctor hasn’t cleared me yet,” he says, and his mouth feels strained around the well-rehearsed phrase. “And I’ve still got a lot of therapy to go through.”

“Aw.” Lance’s expression falls, and even Hunk looks disappointed, although that might be because he’ll be first-choice goalkeeper this season. “Still? Oh, what if you just – attended practice or something, you could give us advice and stuff and—”

“Cut it out, Lance.” Keith’s sharp voice cuts off his teammate, startling the rest of the team. Most of them turn to look at Keith, who just glares at Lance and folds his arms over his chest. “You’re being rude.”

“Excuse me?” It’s almost comical, how Lance puffs out his chest like he’s about to square up. Then again, knowing Lance, he just might. Shiro moves to interfere before things get out of hand, but then the coach gives a loud, pointed cough.

“That’s enough,” he says, once everyone’s turned to him sheepishly – Shiro included, even if he isn’t on the team. The coach gestures for the players to fall in. “Post-practice meeting, let’s go.”

The team shuffles to the side of the pitch, waving at Shiro as they go. Keith hangs back, expression pinched in a way that Shiro wants to smooth off.

“Sorry about that,” Keith says quietly, once most of the team’s out of earshot. “He doesn’t know when to shut up.”

Shiro’s mouth quirks up as he shrugs. “It’s fine.” It’s not, but he’s used to it. “Besides, he meant well.”

Keith gives him that inscrutable look again, but then someone calls for him to _hurry your ass up._ Keith waves them off.

“You okay to wait?” he says, as he half-turns to leave.

This time, Shiro’s smile softens into something more genuine. He nods to where the team’s waiting  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Go.”

Keith hesitates, then goes.

 

The meeting is short; the season doesn’t start until late October, so things aren’t too urgent just yet. Shiro’s back in the bleachers when the team emerges from the showers, scrolling aimlessly through his Instagram feed. He looks up when Keith throws himself into the seat beside Shiro, head slumping to rest on the back of the chair and legs sprawled gracelessly in front of him.

Shiro can’t help his quiet laugh. “Not a morning person, huh,” he quips, remembering how disgruntled Keith had sounded over the phone earlier.

Keith drapes an arm over his eyes and snorts. “Not really, no.” He peeks at Shiro from under his wrist. “Especially not when I get woken up before my alarm.”

Shiro huffs. “How was I supposed to know you’d wake up to a _text._ ”

“Who the fuck texts people at _six in the morning,_ ” Keith retorts, one foot sliding out to kick Shiro in the ankle. Thankfully he’s out of his cleats.

“The text was for _after_ you woke up,” Shiro pointed out, nudging Keith’s foot back. Keith scoffs, but he’s biting down on a smile.

“Coffee,” he says, in lieu of a reply, holding out a hand. It somehow makes Shiro feel inexplicably fond, and he passes along the tumbler. They sit there in silence for a moment as Keith chugs half the coffee in one go and Shiro watches him in amusement.

He looks – good. Shiro flicks his eyes over the deep red Henley, the black distressed jeans, the red high-tops. There’s a slate grey jacket tied around Keith’s waist. Shiro wonders if Keith doesn’t feel chilly, then remembers how he’d been sitting out on the steps in just a tank top.

“Feel more human now?” he asks wryly, when Keith finally sets the tumbler down.

Keith makes a considering sound as he wipes some coffee from his upper lip. “Marginally,” he decides, but there’s a humor in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He takes a slower sip, presses the cool plastic surface to his forehead.

Shiro exhales a smile. “Good.” Then, “what’re you up to after this?”

Another slow sip. “I’ve got class at ten-thirty,” Keith says, a little absently. “Get out at about five.”

Shiro nods. “Walk you to class?” he offers, standing up and brushing his pants off.

Keith hesitates a moment, then nods. “Sure.” Then he looks at the tumbler still in his hands. “Hang on, I should finish this so you can have it back.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine.” Shiro waves off any protest. “You can give it back later. Wouldn’t want to rush your beloved coffee.”

Keith squints at him a moment, then huffs a small smile. “Thanks.”

 

The walk to Keith’s engineering sciences class is spent in easy, casual conversation. Shiro asks after Keith’s lectures – he’s in the same program as Matt, while Shiro’s off in applied physics (“with materials science and engineering, technically, but that’s too much of a mouthful”) – and Keith wheedles stories about their professors out of Shiro (“is Professor Slav as bad as everyone says, or—”; “Worse, so much worse”). Shiro sees Keith off at the steps to the engineering building, waiting until he’s through the gates before heading off for his physics lecture.

It leaves Shiro feeling warmer and more comfortable than he has in months, has him smiling all the way to the other side of the quad. Not even the prospect of Slav’s chaotic, impossible-to-follow lesson dampens his mood.

Matt catches him having lunch at the off-campus place that sells some damn good shawarma rice. His friend’s grinning widely. Shiro eyes him warily as he takes the seat across.

“So,” Matt says, folding his arms on the tabletop and leaning forward, “I hear you’re officially taken this week.”

 _Ah._ Shiro rolls his eyes and resumes eating. Matt goes on, undeterred. “Who’s the lucky person this time? Have they succeeded in offending you already, is that why you’re here alone?”

Shiro snorts. “Hardly.” How the word has gotten around, he’ll never know; campus gossip has never been his purview. But because Matt is persistent, and they’re not exactly keeping it secret, he answers. “It’s Keith. You probably know him, he’s in your program.”

Matt’s eyes go wide behind his glasses. “You’re dating _Prodigy?_ ” he asks, askance.

That – what? Shiro raises an eyebrow, setting down his spoon. “Who?”

“Prodigy.” Matt’s talking around a spoonful of meat and rice, which, gross. Shiro leans out of projectile range. “It’s what some of us call him in the department. He’s amazing, you know, best scores in his year and everything. Damn smart.”

Shiro feels oddly proud at that, smiling before he realizes. “Yeah?”

Matt nods, mouth full. “Dad likes him,” he says, when he’s swallowed. “He’s – was your teammate, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he’s a striker.” Improbable as it is; teams don’t often see regulars in the more demanding courses, especially ones like mechanical engineering.

His friend hums around his spoon, considering. “He’s a scholarship kid, you know.” When Shiro’s eyebrows go up in surprise, Matt blinks. “No? He’s on an athletic scholarship. Full ride. Both his parents are gone.”

Shiro’s own spoon stops halfway to his mouth. “Oh,” he says. “I – didn’t know that.”

Matt’s expression shutters a bit, and Shiro knows they’re both thinking of the same thing – of a plane crash, years and years ago; of Shiro’s own scholarship and the trust fund set up to get him through school. And while Shiro considers the Holts as family, given how much they’ve taken care of him, there’s still that little edge of loss in his life.

“He’s a good kid,” Matt goes on, a little softer.

“I know.” Shiro drops his spoon back, pushes his rice back and forth. Looks up with a wry smile.

“So how’d _Prodigy_ start?”

 

He messages Keith halfway through his last lecture for the day, deciding that since they’d missed lunch together, an early dinner would make up for it. He’s pleasantly surprised when the reply comes in less than ten minutes.

 **k.kogane16** > _sure. where do i see you?_  
**t.shirogane14** < _What’s your last class? I’ll come get you._  
**k.kogane16** > _you sure?_  
**k.kogane16** > _comm17, ridley bldg_  
**t.shirogane14** < _Yeah, I’m sure._  
**t.shirogane14** < See you ^ ^

His last class ends up getting out a bit late, so Shiro has to book it across campus to be on time to meet Keith outside his lecture hall. He’s just wondering if he ought to run to the bathroom to freshen up when the doors open and students start pouring out.

Keith’s one of the last to emerge. He’s pulling his hair back in a low ponytail as he exits, looking around. When he spots Shiro, his face lights up in a subdued sort of way that still makes Shiro feel pleased.

“Hey,” he says, shuffling forward a bit.

“Hey,” Keith answers, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, He meets Shiro’s eyes, expression soft. “Where to?”

Shiro leads him off as he talks. “Well there’s Area 2,” he says, referring to the stretch of small restaurants and food stalls just off campus. “Or we could head uptown for burgers.” He hesitates. “Or you could – come over, if you want, and I could cook.”

Something flashes across Keith’s face, a there-and-gone-again emotion that Shiro can’t catch, before he cocks an eyebrow. “You cook?”

Shiro slows his pace, brow furrowing. “Do I not look like I cook?”

Keith’s expression is entirely deadpan. “You look like you survive on a diet of protein bars and chunks of steak.”

This time Shiro _does_ come to a stop, staring at Keith in slight indignation. And Keith – cracks up, slumping against the wall nearby.

At the sight of Keith’s laughter, Shiro forgets entirely why he’d felt offended. Keith looks – _good_ , when he laughs, head thrown back and eyes scrunched shut and hands clutched round his midsection. His cheeks are pink, his lips draw back to expose his gums, and he’s gone all hiccupy.

He’s absurdly beautiful. Shiro feels a little dumbfounded.

“Sorry, sorry,” Keith says a little breathlessly, when he’s calmed down enough to talk. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Oh, please.” Shiro pulls a mock-aggrieved expression, which almost sets Keith off again. Shiro smiles before he can help himself. “Yes, I do cook. I have to, since I live on my own and it’s cheaper than always going out to eat.” And the familiar and repetitive motions have helped Shiro accustom himself to a prosthetic that still doesn’t quite feel like part of his body, but he’s not about to say that.

Keith smiles wryly. “Maybe we should save that,” he muses, starting off again. “If I’ve only got a week, I don’t want to do everything too quickly.”

Shiro frowns at that, a bit put off, but before he can reply, Keith reaches back and grabs his wrist. It’s the first time they’ve directly touched. Keith’s slightly roughened skin is warm.

“Come on,” he says, tugging Shiro along. “Area 2 sounds pretty good.”

Still feeling a little unsure, Shiro follows.

 

They end up making their way slowly down the street, buying things to eat here and there. Shiro gets some decent takoyaki from one of the street stalls, then Keith gets a burrito. Shiro ends up with a small curry rice bowl, and Keith follows up with some pork satay. They finish up with a pair of cake pops – Keith’s red, Shiro’s white – as they wander back to the student housing area, chatting about nothing in particular.

Keith eventually comes to a stop outside a somewhat dingy dorm, smile a little rueful. He’s fiddling with the stick of his cake pop. “Well – good night, Shiro,” he finally says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Shiro stares at him for a long moment – at the way he looks, under the relief of the street light; at the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes; at the way Keith bites his bottom lip – before deciding, _fuck it._ He leans in, telegraphing his movements, then brushes his lips lightly over Keith’s cheek. It’s not quite a kiss, but it’s – something.

When he pulls back, Keith’s looking at him with wide eyes, like he’s slightly dazed. His lips are parted, just a little. Shiro wants to run his thumb over the color rising on Keith’s cheeks and see if he can’t make it deepen.

“Good night, Keith,” he says instead, stepping back and smiling.

Keith stares at him a moment longer, before nodding. A corner of his mouth’s curled up almost shyly as he turns to let himself into the building.

Ever the gentleman, Shiro waits until he’s through the door before he leaves.


	3. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thinking about bringing Keith coffee inevitably leads to thinking about dating Keith in general, if what they’re doing can be called _dating_. It certainly hasn’t adhered to what Shiro’s come to expect whenever someone asks him out on a Monday. But Keith is – different. Keith talks to him like an old friend, comfortable and candid. Keith is all wry quips and light questions, without making Shiro feel like he’s being handled with kid gloves or worship. He hasn’t mentioned the accident, or the aftermath; hasn’t asked. It still feels like Keith’s holding him at arm’s length, not quite sharing himself just yet, but Shiro finds he doesn’t mind.
> 
> He’s perfectly fine staying beside Keith until Keith decides to pull him a little closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't supposed to update so soon bc today was supposed to be really hectic but then I woke up with the most godawful headache and a fever so it's been home for me all day sjdkasda so you get Wednesday in advance! Thursday will go up a little later, though; I wanna have the full thing finished first.
> 
> Again, will retrospectively edit as needed. I'm a little loopy on meds rn. Thank you for reading!

* * *

 

This time, Keith doesn’t call after Shiro sends a _good morning!_ text on his way out for his morning run. Shiro’s not very surprised – Keith’s clearly not a morning person – though he hopes Keith doesn’t oversleep and end up late for training. He contemplates picking up another coffee on his way to school, to bring to Keith again after practice. Or maybe a juice, and some pastries to share while they walk to class.

Thinking about bringing Keith coffee inevitably leads to thinking about dating Keith in general, if what they’re doing can be called _dating._ It certainly hasn’t adhered to what Shiro’s come to expect whenever someone asks him out on a Monday. He’s used to very blatant dates, where he acts sweet to his companion; where they go to a restaurant and he pays for the food and they talk about school, or pop culture, or some other simple topic. Where he picks them up after class to go to a movie, maybe head out for drinks. Where he listens to his date subtly (or not-so-subtly) try to pry into his life, suss out his tragic hero’s backstory, talk as if they know all about him beyond the assumptions they’ve made themselves.

But Keith is – different. Keith talks to him like an old friend, comfortable and candid. Keith is all wry quips and light questions, without making Shiro feel like he’s being handled with kid gloves or worship. He hasn’t mentioned the accident, or the aftermath; hasn’t asked. It still feels like Keith’s holding him at arm’s length, not quite sharing himself just yet, but Shiro finds he doesn’t mind.

He’s perfectly fine staying beside Keith until Keith decides to pull him a little closer.

The realization startles Shiro a little, especially given that he’s personally known Keith for all of just two days. But something about Keith just… sets him at ease.

A notification interrupts both Shiro’s music and his ruminations, and he looks around himself to discover he’s made it to the park almost on autopilot. Blinking away his surprise, Shiro opens the notification to find two texts from Keith.

 **k.kogane16** > _good morning_   
**k.kogane16** > _that didn’t wake me up this time_

Finding a plant box to perch on, Shiro smiles and types his reply.

 **t.shirogane14** < _Does that mean I don’t have to bring you coffee this morning?_   
**t.shirogane14** < _I was already planning._

Keith’s reply is laughably quick.

 **k.kogane16** > _i didn’t say that_   
**t.shirogane14** < _I’m kidding._   
**t.shirogane14** < _Meet you after practice?_   
**k.kogane16** > _no practice on wednesdays_   
**k.kogane16** > _campus?_

Shiro looks up contemplatively. There’s a few breakfast places around campus they could go to, or if Keith’s got the time, they could head uptown like he’d suggested last night. Or…

 **t.shirogane14** < _Give me an hour, yeah?_   
**t.shirogane14** < _I’ll pick you up from your dorm._

Then he starts his music back up, and stretches his legs a bit before starting his return trip.

 

Fifty minutes, a quick shower, and a side trip later and Shiro’s on the sidewalk outside Keith’s dorm, leaning against a streetlamp. He’s got two paper bags in one hand, while the other types one-handed to tell Allura she doesn’t have to drive him to class today. She’d been amused when he’d messaged her yesterday afternoon, telling her that he’d just walk back to the apartment since he was going out with ‘a friend’.

 _Have fun with your ‘friend’ ;),_ her message had read, and Shiro knows he’s in for an interrogation when he sees her for a late lunch during their break, knows she’ll tease mercilessly, but he won’t mind.

“Hey,” comes a sleepy voice, and Shiro looks up to see Keith emerging from his dorm… and keeps staring. Keith’s wearing a pair of high-waisted denim shorts under a hunter green top that falls just past his ribs. He’s traded his high tops for a pair of dark brown, chunky boots. The grey jacket’s back around his hips.

He looks fantastic. Shiro suddenly feels like a bit of a schlub in his well-worn, deep plum button-down and jeans.

“Good morning,” he says faintly, when he’s recovered himself. Keith is thankfully still not awake enough to notice.

“So where are we going?” he asks, scrubbing a hand over his eyes and scrunching his nose as a yawn distorts his expression.

Shiro violently represses the urge to kiss him. Instead, he reaches out and gently takes him by the arm, steering him in the direction of campus. “School. Come on, now.” He nudges Keith forward. “I’ve got a bit of a surprise.”

 

Shiro’s _surprise_ is actually a small picnic. He’s brought a spare blanket to sit on, and a couple of containers of takeaway breakfast from the greasy spoon round the block from his apartment. Keith perks up at the smell of fried eggs, garlic rice, and sausages. There’s even a small cup of pudding for each of them.

“Wow,” Keith says, blinking at the small collection of food containers spread out between them. “This is a lot more than coffee.”

Shiro has that, too.

They eat in silence for a while, Keith clearly enjoying the food and Shiro enjoying watching Keith wake up in increments. Keith asks where he got the meal; Shiro puts a finger over his lips and winks.

“Trade secret,” he says conspiratorially, and Keith rolls his eyes, but he’s biting down on a smile.

The conversation drifts; Shiro brings up Matt, and Keith joins in with a few stories of his own that Shiro’s sure to tease Matt about later. He also mentions Pidge, and it’s clear from the way Keith talks that he’s genuinely fond of them. Given the hour, most people are either in class or not yet on campus, so the quad is mostly empty. The two of them are tucked away in a corner with their food.

It’s unexpectedly intimate. Shiro eats one last bite of pudding, looks up and meets Keith’s eyes. They both smile.

Keith looks away first.

“Well,” he says, reaching around himself to start packing up the takeaway containers. “I – we should be headed for class.”

Shiro blinks and nods, feeling oddly disappointed. He stacks his own takeaway containers, puts everything back in the paper bags. But when he stands up and holds his hand out to Keith, surprisingly, Keith shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet.

“Thank you for breakfast,” Keith says, softly. His hands fidget around the strap of his bag. His smile looks a little – wistful.

“You’re welcome,” Shiro replies, offering a small smile of his own.

He feels a little like he’s missed something in a conversation, like the movie he’s watching has skipped over a vital scene. Keith gives him a little wave, and hesitates before heading off. Shiro’s left standing in the corner of the quad with two bags of empty takeaway containers and quite a bit of confusion.

Then his phone pings an alarm, and he exhales sharply, picks up his things, and leaves.

 

Allura makes a break for him as soon as her lecture lets out, grinning widely.

“ _So,_ ” she says, weaving her arm through his and promptly dragging him off to the coffee shop. “It’s already Wednesday. Spill.”

It’s in moments like these that Shiro can picture just how terrifying a lawyer Allura will make in the future.

“Did Matt tell you anything?” Shiro deflects as he lets himself be towed off. Between his two friends, he’s learned that he’s never going to get out of anything.

“Not much.” Allura wrinkles her nose for a moment, put out by the lack of information. Then her expression turns sly. “How’s it going so far?”

Shiro purses his lips, contemplating his answer. He thinks back to his ruminations over his morning run. “He’s – interesting,” he says, carefully, as Allura steers them across the quad and out of the humanities complex. “Not what I expected.”

She gives him a skeptical, sideways glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well I never expected him to ask me out, for one,” Shiro admits. “But then he did, and he’s just been—” He breaks off, trying to think of a way to describe how _comfortable_ it’s been around Keith these last two days. How easily they’ve fallen together. Which is patently absurd, but true.

“He’s interesting,” Shiro finally says, shoulders shaking in quiet laughter. “Different.”

When he turns to look at Allura, she’s watching him with her mouth tucked around a smile, expression soft and fond. He’s not quite sure what’s warranted that, and he’s about to ask, but then they’ve arrived at the coffee shop and the door’s swinging open and—

“Shiro!” Pidge grins at him from where they've got the door shoved open. And behind them, with an unreadable expression, is Keith.

“Hey,” Shiro says automatically, although he isn’t looking at Pidge. Beside him, he can feel Allura draw away from him with a soft _oh_ of surprise. He looks at her briefly in confusion, then turns back to Keith, but the unreadable expression is gone and he’s got that look of tucked-away amusement again.

“Hey Shiro,” he says, nudging Pidge out the doorway so Shiro and Allura can pass. “Out early?”

“Lunch break.” Shiro nods at Allura. “Her guardian owns this place. Allura, this is Keith and Pidge. Matt’s sibling.”

“I’ve heard all about you two,” Allura says, all politeness and grace. Her eyes flick over to Keith, then Shiro knowingly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Matt talks about you a lot,” Pidge says, beaming. And then their eyes go wide. “Oh, we should let you two get lunch. Keith and I were just leaving.”

“It’s no problem.” Allura reaches out to squeeze Shiro’s bicep with an indulgent smile. “But we’ll let you on your way.”

“Good to meet you, Allura.” Pidge flashes her a big grin, then winks at Shiro. “See ya around.”

She turns to leave. Keith – who Shiro realizes hasn’t spoken since greeting him – smiles at Shiro, eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s turning to leave when Shiro starts forward.

“I, uh.” He turns to see Allura give him a knowing look before she enters the cafe. Bemused, Shiro turns back to Keith. “I don’t get out until six later, but I can pick you up after practice.”

“Sure.”

They linger a little longer, smiling, like they’re uncertain of what to do. Then Shiro leans in impulsively and kisses Keith on the cheek again, the same careful gesture. Keith’s mouth smells like coffee.

 _Iced double shot mocha,_ Shiro remembers as he draws back.

“See you later, Keith,” he says. His hand comes up, thumb wiping away a stray smudge of syrup at the corner of a bitten-red lip.

Keith’s looking at him, pretty eyes wide, expression slightly stunned. There’s that faint dusting of pink on his cheeks again.

An unobtrusive cough to their right startles them from their little moment. Pidge is looking at them both slantwise, obviously restraining a smirk.

“Sorry,” they both say, then they look at each other and break into small, sheepish laughs. Keith steps out of Shiro’s personal space with a fond little smile.

“See you, Shiro,” Keith says, then he and Pidge head off.

Shiro lingers a bit longer at the doorway, watching Keith leave.

 

“ _Different,_ huh,” Allura says teasingly, once Shiro’s placed his order and slid into the seat across her. Shiro gives her a castigating look that does nothing to wipe the smirk off her face.

“It’s part of being a good boyfriend,” he defends himself. It isn’t the first time he’s kissed his date on the cheek, or flirted with them in front of friends.

(It _is_ the first time he’s wanted to swipe his thumb across a plush lower lip and see if they taste like the coffee they’d ordered. But he’s not telling Allura that.)

Allura looks like she wants to say more, but Shiro glares at her pointedly until she holds up her hands in surrender. The conversation turns to her latest political history lesson, and Shiro’s updates on his therapy, until it’s time for them both to head back to class.

And if Shiro’s thoughts wander to violet-grey eyes and lightly colored cheeks more than once, well, he’s not telling Allura that either.

 

This time, Shiro hangs back by the bleachers until he sees the team finishing up practice. He waves when he sees Keith searching the seats, smiling when Keith waves back. Rolo throws him a salute, and Antok raises a hand, but no one else seems to notice him, for which Shiro’s grateful.

The team disperses. Most of them head off to the showers, while some make for the parking lot. Keith waves a few people off, then waits a handful of moments before heading over to Shiro.

“Thanks for waiting,” he says once he’s got Shiro within earshot.

Shiro shakes his head, smiling as he reaches out. “Not a problem.”

He means to draw Keith in, maybe kiss him on the forehead, but Keith holds out his hands with a grimace. “Urgh, no, I literally just got out of training.” He makes a face. “Let me shower first.”

It makes Shiro laugh as he puts his hands up in the air. “Fine, fine. I can wait here, you know.”

“No, it’s fine. I forgot to pack a change of clothes so I need to go home.” Keith’s face scrunches up apologetically. “I don’t know if you made plans for dinner, so I can just meet you somewhere, or, uh—” He hesitates. “Or if you… wouldn’t mind, you can wait up at my place while I clean up.”

Shiro blinks for a moment, a little surprised. Keith’s expression immediately turns guarded, which makes Shiro wave a hand to head him off. “No, no,” he says quickly, trying for a reassuring smile. “I can wait, I don’t mind.”

Another hesitation, then Keith nods. “Okay.” He tips his head in the direction of the student housing. “Come on.”

The walk to Keith’s dorm is spent chatting easily. Keith tells him about practice and how the team is coming along, tells him about how Antok had nearly taken him out with a heavy tackle. Shiro talks about his classes and Slav’s latest, incomprehensible lecture. He’s painfully aware of the small distance between their shoulders. When they get to the dorm, Keith’s expression pinches, and he turns away uncertainly to let them both in.

But something on his face eases when Shiro touches his arm and smiles, so Shiro mentally chalks up a win.

Keith’s dorm room isn’t – quite what Shiro had expected. It’s a bit of a mess, with a Borussia Dortmund poster up by the bed ( _Shinji Kagawa,_ Shiro notes in amusement) and a scattering of papers over his desk. There’s a narrow closet, a Pokeball bean bag squished half-under the bed, and a chair stacked with laundry in the far corner. The bed is half-made, blanket hastily folded. There’s a small cactus on the windowsill.

“Sorry,” Keith says, gesturing vaguely at… everything.

Shiro ruffles his hair as he walks further into the room.

“You should see mine,” he says with a tiny chuckle (but really; Allura’s berated him more than once for the state of his stuff).

Keith’s mouth quirks as he sets his bag down by the bed. “Maybe,” he answers cryptically, turning to his closet. “You can sit anywhere. I won’t take long.”

Shiro makes himself comfortable on the corner of the bed with a quick shake of his head. “Take your time.”

Keith gives him a wry look, then disappears through a door to the side that Shiro assumes leads to a shared bathroom. His thoughts then start to drift to Keith in the shower, and Keith _wet_ in the shower, and Shiro viciously cuts off that train of thought before it veers into too-dangerous territory. He distracts himself by looking around Keith’s room again, trying to suss out its owner’s personality.

The closer he looks, the more he realizes that in spite of the decor, there’s very little that’s _personal._ The corkboard above the desk holds some notices from classes and a schedule; the desk has papers and notebooks and two textbooks. The closet door’s left open, and Shiro can see stacks of clothes semi-neatly folded or hung up on the spindly rack. The Dortmund poster looks a little wrinkled, but it feels very – generic.

 _No photos,_ Shiro realizes, glancing at the bedside table, which holds an alarm clock and a well-worn paperback. No photos, no mementos, no notes tacked up.

It makes something twist in Shiro’s chest.

He’s just reaching out to check the title of the paperback when Keith emerges from the shower, hair still damp and skin a little pink. He’s wearing a slightly loose, periwinkle shirt with three-quarter sleeves that emphasizes the semi-permanent tan of his skin. Shiro’s eyes drag over the dark, distressed jeans that hug long legs like a second skin, down to the familiar red high-tops, and he forgets about Keith’s room entirely.

When he looks back up at Keith’s face, the boy is obviously suppressing a laugh. And when Shiro’s eyes widen in mortification – he’s damned sure he’s blushing – Keith gives in, leaning back against his closet and pressing a hand to his mouth.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says breathlessly, pinching his mouth around a smile when he sees Shiro’s half-mocking pout. “So, where to?”

In retaliation, Shiro gets up and presses his hands to Keith’s hair, ruffling it into a damp mess. Even wet, it’s soft under Shiro’s fingers, and he lingers a bit, carding through the strands to push Keith’s bangs off his face.

“Brat,” he says, as Keith bats his hands away with a glare. Then Shiro surrenders to the urge he’s had since meeting Keith after practice, and leans in to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead. He smells like apple shampoo. Slender fingers close over his shirtfront, just briefly.

“I was thinking,” Shiro continues, as he pulls away, “we could head uptown for dinner and maybe a movie. There’s a burger joint I really like. If you don’t mind the bus.”

Keith’s expression has gone unreadable again, shuttering for a moment, before he nods. He turns to his bag, digs out his wallet and keys, pulls out his jacket.

“Sure thing.”

 

The ride into the commercial district is quiet, which Shiro chalks up to Keith being tired after practice. The other boy spends most of it looking off into middle distance, although he smiles when Shiro touches his shoulder to let him know it’s their stop. They navigate through the Wednesday evening crowds to the burger joint, where Shiro chats with the server and waves away Keith’s attempts to pay for his own food. They get a booth by the window, watching the night life pass them by.

“Do you take the bus here often?” Keith asks, when they’ve gotten comfortable.

“No,” Shiro admits, smiling ruefully. “I used to take my hoverbike in, but after…” He shrugs his right shoulder, trailing off. “I’m not allowed to ride yet, so I take the bus if I feel like coming.”

Keith’s gaze cuts to the prosthetic briefly, but to Shiro’s relief, he makes no comments. Instead, his eyes meet Shiro’s with unexpected mischief and wonder. “You have a bike?”

Shiro breaks into a grin. “Yeah.” It’s safely parked in the Holts’ garage, after Shiro’d given Pidge free rein to fix it up and trick it out as they pleased. Shiro’s leather biker jacket is tucked away in his closet. “Olkarion JK802. It was my dad’s.”

If Keith picks up on the _was,_ he doesn’t comment. Instead, he gives a low whistle, and there’s a flash of heat in his expression. “I’ve never owned a bike,” he confesses, mouth quirked, “but I did learn how to ride one. That’s damn lucky.”

“Yeah?” Shiro’s grin turns speculative as he looks Keith over, mildly impressed. That’s, well. That’s a hell of a visual – Keith in a leather jacket and boots, straddling the bike, tearing down the highway. The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through. “I’d let you fly it, if you’d like.”

The surprise flashes across Keith’s face, before he smiles open-mouthed in disbelief. “Really?” he exclaims, in almost child-like excitement. Then he collects himself, hand shielding his mouth and his blush. “I mean, I’d like that if – if you’d let me.”

Shiro’s eyes crinkle in fond amusement, though the arrival of their food saves him from doing something stupid, like kissing the smile off Keith’s face. He still slides his foot under the table so it presses against Keith’s, the slightest contact.

“I’d love to,” he says, honestly.

Keith ducks his head, unable to completely hide his smile. But he doesn’t pull his foot away.

The meal passes in comfortable silence, punctuated only by remarks about the food or brief, casual stories, but Shiro finds he doesn’t mind. Keith steals some of his fries; he retaliates by noisily slurping Keith’s milkshake. It gets him a kick under the table, but Keith’s also laughing, so it’s worth it.

They move on to the cinema from there, and somewhere along the walk Shiro finds that Keith fits nice and snug under his arm, tucked up against Shiro’s shoulder. He picks a movie arbitrarily, some action flick that sounds appealing enough and that Keith professes to be interested in. Keith allows him to pay for the tickets only on the condition that Keith gets their snacks, and they file into their seats with sodas and candy and a small tumbler of popcorn to share between them.

It’s halfway through the movie when Shiro feels a warm weight fall onto his left shoulder. He looks to the side to find Keith slumped against him, chest rising and falling softly as he dozes off. His hands are folded in his lap, and his hair falls over his brow.

He looks a lot younger like this, more boyish, and terribly endearing. Shiro smiles fondly as he reaches out and gently brushes the hair out of Keith’s eyes.

There’s a tiny mole by the corner of his left eye, just under the brow. Shiro’s hand lingers just a little.

(He maybe wants to kiss it.)

He leans back in his seat, and lets Keith sleep until the movie ends.


	4. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro thinks about Keith and the quirk of his smile, amusement tucked into the corner of his mouth, and thinks he can’t quite make heads or tails of the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know I said on Twitter that I'd update Saturday night or Sunday but events conspired to turn me into the walking incubator of the viral plague so I've been feeling like death warmed over the past few days sdhaksd. Finally opened my laptop to post the Thursday chapter!! 
> 
> Small note – Allura's university tag here uses Coran's (presumably) last name bc Coran in this AU is her legal guardian (he also runs the coffee shop).
> 
> PSA kids please communicate healthily and openly with your partner and friends, unless you're two gay idiots in a fanfic, in which case bottle up all your feelings and brood away.

* * *

 

He starts his day with what feels like their now-customary greeting, sending Keith a good morning text as he gets ready to go running. He also lets Allura know he won’t be needing her to drive him to school again, since he plans to head over to Keith’s as soon as he finishes showering. He won’t have time to prep another picnic, but he can bring Keith something to eat while he walks Keith to practice.

He checks his messages while waiting to cross the street.

 **a.smythe14** > _I’m starting to think I won’t have to bring you to school anymore at all ^ ^_  
**t.shirogane14** < _Don’t get ahead of yourself._

Keith smiles at him sleepily when he comes out of his dorm. Shiro doesn’t resist the urge to kiss him quickly on the cheek, then holds out a paper bag. “Sandwiches,” he says, in response to Keith’s questioning glance. “And a banana, because you’ve got practice.”

“Thanks,” Keith mumbles, already opening the bag to dig in.

They walk to campus companionably, shoulders bumping occasionally. Keith makes contented little noises as he eats, asserting the sandwich is _the best I’ve had in ages, god, I’m never going to be able to suffer cafeteria bread again._ Shiro laughs, mutters that it’s just a sandwich, but he’s pretty pleased with himself. Keith’s faint blush when Shiro wipes away a little mayonnaise from the corner of his mouth is wonderfully adorable.

“What time’s your break today?” he asks, as they come up to the football pitch. He can’t stay to watch, since he’s got an early lab class, but he wants to know when he’ll be seeing Keith again.

“Same as Tuesday,” Keith answers, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder. “One-thirty. You?”

“One o’clock. My ES lecture isn’t meeting today.” Professor Regris had posted the message early this morning, which means Shiro has the rest of the afternoon free. “Meet you for lunch?”

Keith’s smile makes Shiro’s chest feel all funny. “Sure. I can come find you after my class gets out. We’ll be in the same building.”

“It’s a date, then.” Shiro kisses Keith on the forehead and turns to go.

 

(He misses the way Keith’s expression tightens, just a bit, once he’s turned away.)

 

Allura ends up meeting him outside his lecture hall to ask his opinion on one of her research projects. It’s not Shiro’s area of expertise, but Allura values his input, and he can tell this is one of those times she needs a soundboard more than an actual debate anyway. He asks the appropriate questions, points out a couple of things that could use clarifying. They’re both leaning over her tablet, seated on the low ledge outside his lecture hall, when a polite cough startles them out of their discussion.

Keith’s standing a few steps away, giving them an odd look. Shiro looks at his watch guiltily to find it’s past quarter to two.

“Fuck,” he says, eloquently, flashing Keith an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, we got a little carried away, I didn’t notice the time.”

“It’s fine.” There’s a faint edge to Keith’s smile, but his expression is affable enough as he turns to Allura and nods at her. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”

“No, no, it’s my fault.” Allura rises to her feet and waves away Keith’s protest. “I shouldn’t have kept him this long if he’s got somewhere else to be.”

“It’s fine,” Keith says again, and this time he isn’t looking at either of them.

Allura’s brow furrows, but she remains steadfastly diplomatic. “Well,” she says, smiling at both of them. “I’ll leave you both to it, then. Thanks for the help, Shiro.”

“Any time.” Shiro pulls her into a brief, one-armed hug, squeezing round her waist.

“I’ll see you around, then. You too, Keith.” With a swoosh of hair and a wink, she weaves away into the throng of students. Shiro keeps an eye on her a moment longer before turning back to Keith.

“Sorry,” he says again, sheepish. He really hadn’t meant to lose track of time like that. He hopes Keith hadn’t been standing there long.

Oddly, Keith’s also watching Allura leave, gaze a little distant. It takes him a moment to reply, leaving Shiro to wonder if Keith had heard him. But then the other boy blinks as if coming out of a daze, then looks over at Shiro with a placating smile.

“Just for that, you’re buying me lunch,” he says lightly, teasingly, and something in Shiro’s chest untwists in relief.

“I’d have bought you lunch either way,” he says, touching a hand to the small of Keith’s back and guiding him to the exit at the other end of the corridor. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll add dessert.”

Keith lets himself be turned, but when they begin walking, he shies away from Shiro’s touch. Shiro lets his hand drop with a twinge of disappointment, but he doesn’t comment, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets instead.

“Where do you want to eat?” he asks, when they’ve stepped out into the quad.

Keith tips his head up, tapping a finger contemplatively against his lips. The sun dapples his brow and his cheeks, puts thin streaks of light in his hair. He’s changed out of training gear, into a loose red tank and drawstring pants cropped just under his knees. He’s got a faint smatter of freckles over his shoulders.

Not for the first time, Shiro finds himself a little lost staring at Keith and wondering at how pretty he actually is. Keith’s a collection of little details and fine features, a body that looks sketched out in sharp pencil. Shiro’s never considered himself as having a type, but Keith magnetizes his attention and attraction in a way that’s unfamiliar and visceral.

Not for the first time, Shiro wonders just why Keith had asked him out that Monday morning.

(He wonders why he hasn’t brought it up yet, either.)

“Area 2 is fine,” Keith finally says, turning to Shiro with a small smile.

Shiro glances up to meet violet-grey eyes looking at him a little wistfully. He opens his mouth to ask, then changes his mind with an answering smile.

“Let’s go, then.”

 

They end up at a small restaurant that sells Thai food. It takes a little waiting before a space in a corner opens up, but they eventually get settled with their food at a small table for two. Keith’s quiet as they set their plates down and start to eat, face a little clouded over. Shiro’s halfway through his pad Thai when Keith speaks.

“Have you known Allura long?” he asks, casually, dipping his satay into the accompanying peanut sauce.

Shiro’s brow furrows at the non-sequitur, but Keith’s expression is bland as anything. He meets Shiro’s confused gaze with slightly raised eyebrows, watching Shiro expectantly.

When it’s clear Keith isn’t going to offer an explanation for his question, Shiro ducks his head to contemplate over his food. His mouth twists into a nostalgic little smile.

“Since freshman year,” he says. It’s not difficult to remember a headstrong, unapologetic girl schooling their block supervisor about sexism after he’d tried to hit on her by sliding an arm around her waist. They’d argued plenty in their first few months of friendship, what with Allura’s combative personality and Shiro’s inability to drop an argument even if he’s losing. But he admires her wholeheartedly, and he’s infinitely grateful for her presence in his life.

Keith’s still twirling his satay around in the sauce a little aimlessly, looking at the table. “I’m guessing you guys are pretty close,” he says, in a tone that misses humor by a few inches.

Uncertain where the conversation is headed, Shiro nods. “She’s one of my best friends.” The other being Matt, whom Shiro has known since much further back. It had taken much longer for him and Allura to get along – Matt’s devil-may-care attitude definitely hadn’t helped – but now the three of them are what Matt’s dad calls a _right bunch of terrors._

Keith goes quiet again after that, eating his food a little absently. Shiro again feels like he’s missed something in this conversation, some nuance that’s passed him by, but he doesn’t know how to ask. So he takes the last shrimp from his plate and transfers it to Keith’s, a tiny peace offering to break the tension between them.

Keith looks from the shrimp to Shiro, then huffs under his breath, but the corners of his mouth turn up. He pushes a piece of satay off its stick and puts it on Shiro’s plate in return.

Things feel a little easier after that.

 

Shiro has the rest of the day off, so he offers to walk Keith back to class, to which Keith agrees readily enough. They talk about nothing in particular on the way to the engineering building. Keith waves Shiro off at the steps, claiming he’ll be fine from here.

“I’ll see you after practice, though?” Shiro insists, splaying a palm over Keith’s ribcage.

“ _Yes,_ ” Keith says in mock exasperation, rolling his eyes. Then something softens at the edges of his expression as his mouth twists. “I’ve only got three days left, anyway, so I should make the most of them.”

When the words register, Shiro frowns, perplexed and unsettled, but Keith’s already pulling away before Shiro can make him clarify. He presses a quick, chaste kiss to Shiro’s cheek and patters up the stairs with a little wave.

“See you later,” he calls, and then he’s gone, leaving Shiro to stand on the pavement, fingers hovering over his cheek, feeling more confused than he can remember being in his life.

 

The library is supposed to be quiet, but when there are dozens of students all trying to study (or “study”), the buzz never really does fade. And while Shiro would like to blame the noise level for his lack of concentration, if he’s honest with himself, he hadn’t had any focus to begin with.

As it is, he’s still turning Keith’s words over in his head, trying to figure out what the other boy had been getting at.

It isn’t the first time Keith’s brought up a time frame. _If I’ve only got a week,_ he’d said before – last Tuesday, when they’d been deciding where to get dinner. And while Shiro knows that _yes,_ his ‘relationships’ (for lack of a better word) with the people who ask him out don’t usually last more than a week, it’s not exactly a fixed deadline and it’s certainly not a _standard._

Besides, Keith’s – Keith’s different.

It had seemed awkward, saying that to Allura, but Shiro had meant it then and he means it now. Keith doesn’t look at him with rose-tinted glasses, doesn’t idealize him into a patchwork of assumptions and expectations and fantasy. Keith doesn’t look at Shiro and see only what he projects. He’s let Shiro be honest and candid; hasn’t pressed for more beyond coffee and food and company. He’s had no pretensions, no presumptions.

Keith’s never looked at Shiro and thought of him as something to be fixed. He hasn’t pried about the accident, the aftermath. Hasn’t flinched when Shiro’s touched him with metal fingers instead of human ones.

Shiro thinks about Keith and the quirk of his smile, amusement tucked into the corner of his mouth, and thinks he can’t quite make heads or tails of the boy.

The smack of papers hitting the table jolts him out of his thoughts. Thoroughly startled, Shiro stares up to find Allura looking at him wryly.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks, sliding into the seat across him. The stack of readings by her elbow is as thick as Shiro’s arm.

“Make it ten bucks and maybe I’ll talk,” Shiro parries, adjusting his own notes and texts so she has room.

They shuffle around a bit, then Shiro means to return to studying (or well, pretending to study) when he notices Allura’s still looking at him expectantly. He raises an eyebrow in response, not wanting to give her anything. Not yet, at any rate.

Allura huffs and picks up a highlighter. “I’m sorry about a while ago,” she says, pulling one of the readings in front of her and flipping it open. “I didn’t want to make the wrong impression”

Shiro’s brow furrows, pen poised over his notebook. “Why would you do that?”

Allura glances up at him like he’s being particularly obtuse, then sighs. “I’ll have to let you figure this out on your own, but if you mess up because you’re too busy being oblivious, I reserve the right to hit you.”

“I – what?”

But Allura just shakes her head, gesturing at his notes before turning back to her own studies. Shiro stares at her for a while longer, feeling even more thoroughly perplexed than when he’d first come here. He _really_ doesn’t know what she’s getting at, and it’s clear she’s not giving him room to ask, which is a little unfair. But Allura’s also plenty stubborn, so after a few moments Shiro exhales, slightly peeved, and turns back to his review.

 

He stays in the library with Allura the rest of the afternoon, only surfacing after Keith messages him that they can meet at his dorm so Keith can take a shower. Shiro rubs the exhaustion from his eyes and rolls his shoulders, and ignores the sly look Allura gives him as he packs up.

“Have a good night,” she says impishly, poking his arm with a highlighter.

“Shut up,” Shiro gripes, but he still kisses the top of her head as he leaves.

Keith meets him outside the dorm a few minutes after Shiro gets there, freshly showered and looking particularly distracting in distressed denim shorts. He hooks his arm around Shiro’s, who leads them off to the bus stop with a smile. Keith tells him about practice, an upcoming friendly match they have against the Balmera University Warriors in a few days. Shiro pays more attention to the cadence of Keith’s voice than the actual words, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind.

This time Keith picks a Korean chicken place, a new franchise that Shiro doesn’t remember from when he’d been around here more often. He lets Keith place their orders – though he still insists on paying – and they settle in a booth amid groups of noisy students out for dinner. Keith’s humming absently to the song playing on the speakers, gaze wandering the restaurant around them.

“I’m sorry again about this afternoon,” Shiro hedges, tugging Keith’s attention back.

Keith’s smile tightens at the corners, just a fraction, but he shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says, one finger reaching out to draw idle circles around the rim of his glass. His eyes are lowered; Shiro can’t quite suss out his expression. “I didn’t want to take away your time with your… friends.”

Something about the way he says it doesn’t sit right with Shiro. He frowns, then reaches out, hooking his fingers around Keith’s and drawing their hands down to rest on the table.

“I know,” he says, carefully. His thumb brushes over Keith’s knuckles; slender fingers tighten around his, minutely. “But I’m dating _you_ now, and we had an agreement to meet. I should have been more conscious.”

(Abruptly, he realizes it’s the first time they’ve explicitly acknowledged that they’re _dating._ It’s all felt so natural – walking Keith to school, meeting him after practice, taking him out to eat. It reminds Shiro again of just how different this all feels, how easy Keith makes it to be with him.)

He looks at Keith, intending to make eye contact to emphasize his words, but he falters at the look on Keith’s face. It’s almost – brittle, maybe. Breakable.

Then the server arrives with their food, and Keith withdraws his hand to lean back. Shiro leaves his hand on the tabletop a heartbeat longer, feeling oddly bereft.

“Have you ever had pajeon?” Keith’s asking, arranging the different plates between them deliberately, carefully. He slides over one plate of what looks like vegetables cooked in batter. “It’s pretty good here.”

Their eyes meet over the food. Keith smiles at him, and it feels like a thin veneer of paint.

Shiro doesn’t know how to ask, or _what_ he even wants to ask, so he accepts the plate with a faint smile of his own.

“First time for everything,” he says, and they start to eat.

 

Dinner is a pleasant if subdued affair. They talk mostly about the food, trading questions about likes and dislikes and favorites. Shiro finds out Keith has terrifyingly high spice tolerance and a fondness for strawberry desserts, while Keith laughs at Shiro’s face when he bites into the extra-spicy chicken wings and promises to try homestyle Japanese food at some point.

(And Shiro gets a little distracted in the middle of everything, watching Keith lick soy garlic sauce off his fingers, and he’s still not sure that Keith isn’t doing it on purpose but he’s also not about to complain.)

Dinner also seems to settle things between them, although Shiro still feels a tiny thread of unease curl around his throat. He still doesn’t know what to make of all the little uncertain moments that Keith’s let slip, his offhand and throwaway remarks about _having three days left_ and _making the most of his time._ The brittle look he gets sometimes, when he thinks Shiro isn’t looking.

This whole thing between them, in general, and what it means that Shiro looks at Keith and wants to know what he looks like when he’s just woken up in the morning.

Shiro walks Keith back to his dorm, hyper-aware of the inches of space between them, and wonders why he feels a little out of his depth.

“Thanks for dinner,” Keith says, stopping in front of the entrance to his building. His mouth is still red from the bingsu they’d had for dessert, a gradient that stains his lips. Shiro thinks that if he were to lean in and kissed Keith now, he’d taste of strawberries.

He offers Keith a smile instead.

“Pick you up in the morning?” he asks, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.

Keith’s smile is more subtle, crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but it still knocks Shiro breathless.

“Sure.” There’s a hesitation, a soft exhale, like resignation. “Good night, Shiro.”

Another space of a moment, where breathing comes like static. When Shiro leans in, Keith’s eyes flutter shut. He pauses, uncertain, then kisses Keith on the cheek.

“Good night.”


	5. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where to?” Keith asks, eyebrows raised.
> 
> Shiro takes a moment to consider.
> 
> He looks at Keith and meets violet-grey eyes. Shiro wants to bury his hands in Keith’s hair and kiss him.
> 
> “Come over,” he says, impulsively. His fingers dig into Keith’s waist. “I’ll make dinner, we can – watch something on my laptop, I don’t know, but come over. To my place.” He makes himself remember to breathe. “Please.”
> 
> Keith watches him for a few moments, eyes roving Shiro’s face as if searching for something. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, has Shiro transfixed. He desperately hopes he hasn’t fucked this up.
> 
> Then Keith’s gaze cuts away and a corner of his mouth quirks up.
> 
> “Okay,” he says, turning back to the controls of the bike. He rolls his shoulders, adjusts his grip on the handlebars.
> 
> “Tell me how to get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter update in the middle of me working on all my deadlines to tide you guys over ^ ^ Saturday/Sunday/Epilogue might take a while bc I need to finish my SBB (!!!) and a couple of other zine/bang deadlines in between my actual work – you can check my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/okw_tr) for updates and WIP previews! But first let's all wallow in the pining and miscommunication wahaha.
> 
> (Again, will edit retrospectively as needed.)

 

 

**t.shirogane14** < _Good morning! ^ ^_   
**k.kogane16** > _god i don’t wanna get out of bed_

Shiro laughs at Keith’s latest message, shaking his head. He’s in the middle of his morning run – only halfway to the park this time, since his prosthetic’s giving him some discomfort and he’d slept pretty restlessly the night before. He ducks into a nearby convenience store for a bottle of water, and on a whim, gets a pack of strawberry cream chocolate for Keith for after class.

**t.shirogane14** < _You’ll have to, eventually._   
**k.kogane16** > _is that a challenge_   
**k.kogane16** > _watch me_

Shiro rolls his eyes fondly as he takes a long swig of water, then presses the cool plastic to his shoulder.

**t.shirogane14** < _Get up, Keith :p_   
**k.kogane16** > _make me_

_Brat._ Shiro shakes his head again and slips his phone back into its holster. He pockets the chocolates, tosses the water bottle into the recycling bin, then starts on his way home.

When he gets to Keith’s dorm room, however, Keith isn’t outside.

And apparently, he’d issued _make me_ as a direct challenge, because he has not, in fact, gotten out of bed yet.

Shiro sighs in fond exasperation as Keith opens the door to his dorm room with a disgruntled look. There’s still creases on one cheek and he’s evidently tried to comb his hair with little success. He’s also currently in just an oversized band shirt and boxers.

(Shiro keeps his gaze at shoulder level.)

“Nngh,” Keith says blearily, around his toothbrush.

“And good morning to you too,” Shiro says wryly, stepping inside.

He sits on the edge of the bed as Keith patters back into the bathroom, marginally concerned that Keith might accidentally drown himself in the shower or stab himself with a comb. It's with some trepidation that he listens to the noises from the shower, trying to hear if Keith's doing himself injury over the sound of running water and trying _not_ to think of anything else. He does exhale a tiny sigh of relief when the water shuts off a few minutes later and Keith emerges, intact.

Still in just his training shirt and boxers, Keith violently scrubs a towel over his hair before chucking it over the the footboard. Instead of getting dressed, however, he plops down on the bed alongside Shiro and falls back onto the mattress with a _whump._

“Oi.” Shiro stabs a finger at Keith’s thigh, frowning. His gaze remains steadfastly above the belt. “You’re gonna be late.”

Keith makes a disparaging noise and throws an arm over his eyes, then reaches for his blanket. Shiro beats him to it, starting to pull it out of reach, but then Keith gets a hand to one corner. The tug-of-war dissolves into a bout of play-fighting, although Shiro does get seriously winded when Keith gets a foot to his gut.

“ _Fuck,_ fuck, I yield,” he says, laughing where he’s half-lying on Keith’s bed, hunched up by the footboard. He’s got the blanket clutched to his chest. Keith is sitting up, laughing in return, hair a damp mess and cheeks pink.

“Do you really,” he muses, hand hovering over Shiro’s ribs threateningly. Shiro curls up a little more in self-defense.

“Yes,” he says, plaintively. “ _Please_ finish getting ready now.”

Keith looks at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed as if mulling something over. Then he settles on the mattress, cross-legged, and leans back on his hands. “No.”

Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up. “What do you mean, no? You have training this morning, and—”

“No.” There’s a smile threatening to unfurl over Keith’s face. He remains stubbornly in place. “Skip with me.”

That _really_ makes Shiro pause, blanket falling from his grasp. “What?” he asks, pushing himself up so he can frown down at Keith. “We can’t just—”

“Yes, we can.” Now Keith just looks insufferably smug. He unwinds his legs to shift onto his knees; his hands come up to brace themselves on Shiro’s shoulders. Like this, they’re terribly close. There’s an playfulness to Keith’s expression. “You’re playing hooky with me today, Takashi Shirogane.”

The use of his full name instills a sharp reaction that Shiro is only just able to suppress; still, his shoulders tighten just a bit and his breath catches in his throat. His eyes flick down to Keith’s mouth before he forces himself to meet Keith’s gaze. “Am I?”

“You are.” Keith pats his shoulder with an air of finality, and gets off the bed to head to his closet. On the way over, he throws a smirk over his shoulder. “You can’t possibly be so uptight and responsible _all_ the time.”

Shiro blinks and rears back a bit, staring at Keith. “ _Brat,_ ” he says, something he feels he’s been saying a lot lately. Keith pulls out a pair of jeans, looks at him slantwise, completely unrepentant. And Shiro shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, he should be responsible and walk Keith to practice and head to class.

But Keith pins him with those violet-grey eyes and a challenge, and Shiro feels himself give.

He doesn’t understand anything in Professor Slav’s lectures, anyway.

 

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Shiro says for possibly the tenth time. He’s lost count since Keith had pulled him by the hand, laughing, out of his dorm building and onto the street. They’d had a brief debate about what to do, before Keith had tucked himself against Shiro’s side and the words had just come tumbling out of his mouth.

A very short, very secret trip to the garage by the Holts’ house later, and Shiro’s now packing their takeaway lunch into a satchel while Keith runs his hands over the hoverbike’s display with undisguised delight.

If nothing else, the look on Keith’s face has made and will make everything worth it, in Shiro’s opinion.

“Stop saying that and get on,” Keith scolds, though given how distracted he is, there’s no real heat. He flicks his gaze up to Shiro, wry slant to his mouth, as he gets back astride the hoverbike.

(Shiro tries not to think about how good his ass looks in those jeans.)

“Bossy,” Shiro gripes, but he gets on anyway. It’s an exercise in self-restraint and control, being this close to Keith, slotted together on the back of a hoverbike. Keith is a warm line all down his front, powerful muscle in a slender body. Shiro stares at the strip of tanned skin visible where the collar of the red retro jacket gapes open, where Keith’s got his hair tied up.

“Ready?” Keith asks, putting on his helmet.

Shiro shakes his head to clear his thoughts, then pulls on his own. He tugs the visor down.

“As I’ll ever be,” he quips, only half-kidding. He catches sight of the corner of Keith’s smirk, and then they’re off.

 

The hoverbike ride is an exercise in self-restraint, and also self-reflection, because _god_ Shiro has missed this.

He thought he’d have it worse, getting back on the bike for the first time since the accident. Perhaps it’s because he’s not the flyer, or because Keith is a warm and welcome distraction, hips snug against his. Shiro closes his eyes and waits to see if terror will sink teeth into his throat.

The wind whips past them as Keith takes them through the city, to the edges and out and out.

It feels a bit like coming home.

Shiro hasn’t given them a destination and Keith hasn’t asked; instead, he turns up the throttle as they fly down the highway, occasionally weaving around cars and pods and other bikes. At some arbitrary point, in unspoken agreement, he turns off the highway and out into the red, red desert.

The dust kicks up in the wake of the hoverbike’s engines. Shiro’s arms tighten around Keith’s waist. They speed towards the horizon.

Eventually, they come across an slightly run-down shack, with a stubborn old tree out front. To Shiro’s surprise, Keith pulls up just under the tree. He kills the engines but doesn’t take off his helmet, doesn’t make to get off. Tucked behind him, Shiro can’t see where he’s looking.

He loosens his grip from Keith’s waist but only drops his hands to slim hips. “Familiar place?” he asks, as gently as he can manage.

It’s another few moments before Keith drops a hand to cover Shiro’s, squeezing just a bit. “My dad’s,” he says shortly, turning and removing his helmet to give Shiro a faint smile. “I don’t come out here much these days, but the sun’s gonna kill us if we stay out any longer.”

_Both his parents are gone._ Matt’s voice echoes at the back of Shiro’s mind, but just as Keith’s never pressed about Shiro’s own tragedies, Shiro holds his peace. Instead, he huffs out a smile and slides back so he can get off. “How practical of you,” he muses.

“I’d rather not be responsible for the Garrison’s _golden boy_ dying of heatstroke,” Keith retorts, making a face, but there’s no more tension in the line of his shoulders when he leads Shiro to the shack.

(The nickname gives Shiro pause, a slight shuttering feeling, but he finds that in Keith’s light, teasing voice, he minds it much less.)

The interior of the shack is slightly dusty but well-kept. Shiro wonders if Keith comes to clean every once in a while, or if someone else does, but he doesn’t ask aloud. It’s the work of a few minutes to get the generator running, and to check for water, but soon enough they’re out on the porch with an electric fan and their lunch.

Shiro spreads the containers between them, the fried rice, the sweet and sour pork, the duck cuts. Keith’s taken his jacket off, and the sun brings out the freckles in his shoulders as he comes round from checking something out back. His smile widens when Shiro hands him a still-cool sports drink.

“How practical of you,” he says wryly, tossing Shiro’s words back at him, and it makes Shiro laugh.

They eat in companionable silence. Keith leans against the wall, long legs crossed at the ankle. Shiro doesn’t bother being unobtrusive as he looks Keith over, shrugging lightly when Keith catches him. They have a small scuffle over the last pieces of pork; Keith triumphantly pops the last bit in his mouth and Shiro smears orange sauce on his cheek in retaliation.

This far away from everything, he feels – content. Safe. Happy.

They can’t stay forever, but Shiro looks at Keith, all the lines of him in the early afternoon light, and thinks he might pretend, at least a while.

They stay until the worst of the sun’s glare has passed. Shiro finds a book on the shelf inside that looks interesting, an old sci-fi paperback that makes Keith laugh when he sees it. Keith takes a short nap, head pillowed on Shiro’s lap, hand curled by Shiro’s hip. His hair falls over his face again; Shiro’s struck by how boyish and pliant he looks when asleep, again.

It’s quiet and sweet, this small space they’ve made for themselves. Like time has stilled around them.

But they can’t stay forever, and Shiro gently shakes Keith awake as the day spills into late afternoon and they should head back.

“Hrmph,” Keith mumbles, scrunching his nose and rolling over so his face is mashed into Shiro’s thigh.

“Are you always this bad at waking up,” Shiro says, amused. He taps the book on Keith’s head unsympathetically.

“I’m gonna leave you here,” Keith mutters, but he does get up and stretch. Shiro takes the opportunity to return the paperback to the shelf. Together, they clean up, make sure the dust covers are in place and nothing’s been left running. Keith shuts off the generator.

There’s a moment where Shiro almost asks if they can’t stay, if they can’t head back tomorrow or Sunday or never. He looks at Keith, dappled in the sunlight, just as he’d been on the steps that Monday morning, eyes closed and expression almost beatific.

Then he adjusts the satchel on his shoulder, and gets on behind Keith.

He doesn’t look back as they leave.

 

The trip back is longer, with the late afternoon traffic. Keith slows the hoverbike to a stop when they enter the university district, pulling up to the curb outside a convenience store. He turns back to Shiro, lifting the visor.

“Where to?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

Shiro takes a moment to consider.

He looks at Keith and meets violet-grey eyes. Shiro wants to bury his hands in Keith’s hair and kiss him.

“Come over,” he says, impulsively. His fingers dig into Keith’s waist. “I’ll make dinner, we can – watch something on my laptop, I don’t know, but come over. To my place.” He makes himself remember to breathe. “Please.”

Keith watches him for a few moments, eyes roving Shiro’s face as if searching for something. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, has Shiro transfixed. He desperately hopes he hasn’t fucked this up.

Then Keith’s gaze cuts away and a corner of his mouth quirks up.

“Okay,” he says, turning back to the controls of the bike. He rolls his shoulders, adjusts his grip on the handlebars.

“Tell me how to get there.”

 

It’s a short trip from there to Shiro’s place, one of dozens of apartments on the other end of the student housing area. It’s pricier than a dorm, but Shiro appreciates the (moderate) privacy and the fact that it’s a place he can call his own. The Holts had offered to let him stay with them, as had Coran and Allura, but Shiro likes this better.

He’s acutely nervous as he lets Keith into his apartment, hyper-aware of his mismatched furniture and cheesy decor. The kitchen-living room is all one, small space, plus his mess of a bedroom and the tiny bath. He tells himself not to second-guess this as he takes his shoes off at the entryway and leads Keith inside.

“It’s not much,” he admits, scratching his head and smiling sheepishly. “But it’s mine.”

Keith looks around himself, taking in the band posters on the wall and the secondhand couch, the assortment of throw pillows and the tiny shelf of books. He turns to Shiro with a smile.

“I like it,” he says easily. He shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over the arm of the couch. Picks up a Union Jack throw pillow – a gift from Allura – in amusement. Shiro exhales in relief.

“Make yourself at home,” he tells Keith, taking off his own jacket and hanging it on one of the pegs by the doorway. He tosses his keys into the tiny bowl on the kitchen counter. “I can lend you clothes if you want to shower while I start dinner.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at that, though his expression turns more considering as he looks down at himself. They’re both a bit dusty from their impromptu road trip, not to mention how they’d been out in the heat.

Eventually, Keith looks up sheepishly. “That might be good,” he allows, plucking absently at the front of his tank top. “You go first, though. I’m the guest.”

Shiro nods. “Be right back,” he says, gesturing for Keith to have a seat.

After a quick shower – mostly spent _not_ imagining Keith in his shower – Shiro emerges with slightly damp but mostly refreshed. He studiously doesn’t admit to how long he’d spent in front of his closet, first wondering what _he’d_ wear, and then what _Keith_ would wear. He finds Keith on his couch, feet up and head resting on the throw pillows, scrolling through his phone.

Shiro takes a moment to take in how comfortable Keith looks in his space, all settled in. Something warm unfurls in his chest.

“Your turn,” he says, before Keith notices him staring. He holds out a small pile of clothes – a deep plum muscle tee, a pair of cropped drawstring pants, plus his spare towel. Keith takes them gratefully, shuffling off to the bathroom.

“Shower’s a bit temperamental,” Shiro adds wryly, as he heads to the kitchen.

“I live in a dorm, Shiro,” Keith points out, deadpan. “If your water goes above a lukewarm trickle, it’ll be heaven.”

Shiro’s laugh carries until Keith shuts the door.

Still grinning, Shiro deliberately turns his thoughts away from Keith and goes through his cabinets to see what he can come up with for dinner. His safest bet is pasta, garlic and mushroom and bacon bits; he’s still got some bread to go with it. Keith emerges from his shower to find Shiro frying the pasta toppings together while he waits for the noodles to cook. He’s got his bluetooth speaker out, singing softly along to The Smashing Pumpkins.

The corners of Shiro’s mouth turn up when he catches sight of Keith, winking at him as he turns down the burner and checks on the pasta. Keith rolls his eyes, but he smiles as he pulls out one of the two stools by the counter and settles in to watch Shiro cook. The muscle tee hangs a little loose on his torso, exposing lithe shoulders and a sleeve tan. Shiro feels ridiculously pleased.

It’s startlingly easy to share space with Keith like this, preparing food while the other boy reads something on his phone. After a while, Keith wanders over to poke around Shiro’s preparations, so Shiro gets him to slice the bread and put it in the little toaster. It’s an endearing picture, Keith wielding a bread knife uncertainly, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his lips.

They get dinner finished together. Shiro plates their food and produces the strawberry cream chocolate, much to Keith’s delight. Keith helps him carry it all over to the low table in front of the couch.

“I thought you’d insist on eating in the kitchen,” Keith admits, as he tucks his legs up on the couch and balances his plate on his lap.

“More comfortable here,” Shiro points out. More intimate, too, but he doesn’t say that.

He puts on _Skyfall,_ and movie commentary takes up most of their mealtime conversation. Shiro jokes that Keith would look good as the quartermaster, to which Keith responds that if Shiro thinks that makes himself James Bond, he’s got another thing coming.

There’s breadcrumbs at the corner of Keith’s mouth, the slick sheen of olive oil over his lips. There’s melted chocolate on his fingers. There’s a couple of inches of space between them, where Keith’s sitting back on the arm of the couch and Shiro’s leaning against his throw pillows. Shiro slides his foot over, just a bit, until their ankles touch. The laptop sits on the table, playing the end part of the movie, half-forgotten.

Keith pushes some stray cloves of garlic around his plate, then sets down his fork. He’s got that brittle look again, though he tucks it away behind a soft smile.

“I should go,” he says quietly. He hesitates, then reaches out to set his plate on the table. He gets up without meeting Shiro’s eyes.

Shiro almost reaches out to him, to catch him by the wrist and pull him back down onto the couch. But he can’t stop himself from saying, “you don’t have to.”

Keith stills, shoulders pulled back in some indecipherable tension. Shiro gets up from the couch, fits his palm over the flare of Keith’s ribs. Says, carefully, “you can stay.”

(He doesn’t know why he feels a bit like they’re both on the edge of a cliff, like they’ve taken a turn too fast on the bike and now things are out of balance. He doesn’t know why Keith so viscerally draws him in, like he’s magnetizing Shiro’s whole existence.

He does know he doesn’t want Keith to go.)

It’s a long moment before Keith looks up at him, in that uncertain, searching way. He’s biting his lip again, fingers fiddling with the hem of Shiro’s shirt. Shiro leans in, just a fraction.

Then his mobile pings, a message notification, and it’s like the atmosphere around them splinters.

Keith smiles at him ruefully and draws himself away, just a bit, just enough that Shiro can’t feel the warmth of him through the fabric any longer. “I should go,” he says again, with more finality.

“Thank you for dinner,” he adds. Then he leans in, kisses Shiro on the cheek.

The apartment feels very quiet when he leaves.


	6. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro frowns down at Keith, unsettled. “Why do you keep saying that?”
> 
> He sees the way Keith tenses, the sharp line of his shoulders and the measured exhale. “Saying what?”
> 
> “Talking about how much time you have left.” Shiro’s mouth twists. “This isn’t like – I didn’t give a deadline.” He doesn’t, ever; it just… the seven days are just something that _happens_. But he isn’t deliberately planning to break up with Keith come Sunday.
> 
> (He maybe doesn’t want to break up at all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it has been A While since I last updated this and I am _so_ sorry omfg. I got derailed by work and a bunch of other projects and then I just... couldn't come back to it orz. But! After weeks of adding a little bit at a time, I've finally finished the Saturday chapter ^__^ And this one's a fun one 8)
> 
> Mostly edited, but any errors will be fixed in retrospect! Also, jsyk, Curtis makes an appearance here, but just as a minor character and only briefly. And as an additional side note, I've requested [@paladiens](https://twitter.com/paladiens) to do the calligraphy for the title banner of this fic, so that'll go up hopefully soon! Super excited for that bc her art is amazing.
> 
> No officer, I am not a ginormous fan of football, what are you even saying.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

Keith has a game on Saturday morning.

Shiro wakes up around the time the team would be assembling on the pitch for the pre-game drills and meeting. It’s just a friendly, against Balmera U, one of many pre-season matches that the team takes part in as they gear up for when the collegiate league kicks off. Shiro doesn’t have to be there, doesn’t have to watch; Keith hasn’t even said anything about seeing each other this morning.

Still, Shiro fumbles for his phone in the sheets and sends a text, and hopes Keith sees it.

 **t.shirogane14** < _Good luck in the game!!_

He’s contemplating whether he should go out to eat breakfast, or risk the bread in his fridge, when his phone buzzes.

 **k.kogane16** > _thanks_ **_  
_ ** **k.kogane16** > _i’ll score one for you_

Shiro huffs a laugh at the certainty that bleeds through Keith’s text. He’s got no doubt that Keith will manage, though.

The thought of the match lingers as he gets up and heads for the bathroom, then his tiny kitchen. He hasn’t seen the team play since his accident; the scrimmage from earlier this week hardly counts. And part of him wonders how much has changed in all these months. How Hunk’s doing as first-choice keeper. How different they are with Keith leading the line.

He doesn’t have to watch. He probably shouldn’t. He hasn’t even worked out how he still feels about football, after everything.

Then he opens his fridge and finds he doesn’t have much for breakfast, so he has to go out.

The uncertainty persists all the way through his quick shower, while he gets dressed, while he looks for his wallet. He tells himself he should stay away; he can just meet Keith after, if at all.

 

(But one of his biggest faults has always been that he can never leave well enough alone.)

 

Shiro shows up a few minutes before kick-off, scarf wrapped around his neck, tumbler of coffee clutched in his hand. He takes a seat high up in the bleachers, off to the side, where he won’t draw attention. There’s a small audience watching with him – he recognizes Antok’s boyfriend, and Nyma’s a few rows below with a group of friends. Out on the pitch, the Garrison Galaxies starting eleven are moving into position. Shiro spots Keith at the center of the pitch, one foot on the ball, wearing the familiar grey-green uniform.

Jersey number ten, he notes, with a wry smile.

The whistle blows shrill in the early morning, then the game begins.

Shiro quickly realizes that Keith applies the same force of intent in a football game as he does in practice, and most other things in his life. He’s incredibly quick on the ball, setting up a one-two pass with one of the midfielders in the first attack of the game. Shiro watches as the midfielder, Griffin, pulls the ball back then lobs it forward for a long cross-field pass. Keith’s already running to meet it, although he gets cut off by a tackle a few yards out of the opposition box.

Seeing him out there on the pitch – Shiro still feels a little in awe. Keith moves like he’s been born for it, completely at home on the pitch.

Then Shiro realizes he’s waxing a little too romantic, and shakes his head. He takes a swig of his coffee and tries to turn his attention to the rest of the team.

It doesn’t hit him, at first, the resentment. It’s been months since he’d last stepped onto the pitch, and for a while Shiro gets lost in watching the team move. In many ways it’s still familiar, the way they act, the way they play. Shiro recognizes the defensive setup when Balmera U wins a free kick; he’d called it out often enough, marshalling his defense into place. He watches as Hunk catches the ball with ease, the kick falling a little short of goal.

But in as many ways, the team is different. There are new players – Keith definitely hadn’t been a starter on the team when Shiro had been their keeper and captain, the same with Griffin and Lance and the other new faces. Hunk had only been the reserve goalie. Regris and Adam have graduated, and the captainship has since fallen to Antok in Shiro’s absence. Parts of their strategy have changed as well; no longer operating out of the back, from Shiro’s long diagonal passes, the team has opted for a transition game that makes the most out of their extremely talented strikers.

Shiro watches as Griffin switches possession over to Keith on the left wing, while Lance makes a dangerous forward run. And he realizes, then: this is no longer his team.

The resentment hits when Balmera U break on a counter, and Hunk moves off his line too fast. The opposition striker – a hulking, powerful forward named Rax – chips the ball over the fumbling keeper to open the scoring. And Shiro feels a surge of anger go through him, because that shouldn’t have happened – he would have saved that shot.

And Shiro remembers that first morning with Keith, when he’d met him after team practice. Remembers sitting on the bleachers and watching the scrimmage and thinking, _I want to be there._

His prosthetic sits heavy at his side, an ugly weight that still makes him clumsy and uncoordinated on occasion. He thinks about the feel of thick, padded gloves on his hands; about the force of the ball as it stings his palms off a shot. About how he still doesn’t know if he’ll have that again.

Artificial fingers curl on his thigh. Shiro’s shoulders tense and draw up. There are splinters in his ribs and his lungs as he breathes.

Out on the pitch, Keith picks up the ball near the halfway line. He sends a low ball over to Antok, then runs forward to meet the forward pass. Two deft touches take out his defender, while a third sends the shot whizzing under the keeper’s dive for an equalizer.

Keith punches the air, grinning triumphantly. The team surrounds him, pulling him in for hugs or ruffling his hair. Hunk sags in relief against a goalpost.

Shiro gets up quietly, and leaves.

 

He’s just reached the main campus area when someone calls out his name.

“Shiro!”

The voice is unfamiliar – a classmate? Shiro turns, searching for the source, and finds a vaguely-recognizable face jogging up to him. The guy waves at him with a warm smile, which Shiro returns more hesitantly. He pauses at the edge of the parking lot behind one of the humanities buildings.

“Hey,” the guy says, once he’s nearer. He comes to a stop a few paces away from Shiro, bending over a little as he catches his breath. “Sorry, I just – I saw you and I called out without thinking. Did I interrupt you going somewhere?”

“No, it’s fine.” Shiro tucks his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s fine.” The boy grins again and holds out a hand. “It’s Curtis. We’re classmates in Physics 179 and… a few other things, really.”

“Oh, hey.” Figures why the guy’s vaguely familiar. Shiro takes Curtis’ hand – the left one – and tries to smile a little less tightly. He wonders why he’d been called over – something for class, maybe, or a project. God, he hopes it doesn’t have to do with Professor Slav. It’s the last thing he needs right now.

Belatedly, he realizes Curtis is talking again. There’s a lot of shuffling involved, and a lot of clearing of his throat. Shiro blinks and forces himself to pay attention to the boy in front of him instead of the unease that still scratches at his bones.

“—don’t know if anyone’s, uh, asked you out this week yet, or if someone has than, ah. I mean I can wait, it’s fine, I just wanted to, uh. Ask. If you wanted to go out with me.”

Curtis exhales then, a sharp woosh that makes it clear he’s been holding this in a while. It’s almost endearing, really, how nervous he is, how he looks at Shiro in hopeful trepidation. And he seems like a pretty sincere guy, isn’t bad-looking, probably means well.

( _Why not?_ asks a smooth, lilting voice in his head. _Do you want to go out with me?_ )

It’s clear he’s taking a while to respond, because Curtis’ expression has shifted from hopeful to slightly disheartened. Shiro exhales a small smile and looks him in the eye.

“Could I just—” He purses his lips, thinking. “Why are you asking?”

“Why?” Curtis blinks a few moments, perplexed. “Why I’m asking you out?”

“Yeah.” Shiro’s aware it’s a bizarre question, but he’s compelled to know.

There’s a pause while Curtis considers the question, then he huffs a sigh and shrugs. “Pretty obvious, isn’t it?” he says, gesturing at Shiro. “You’re Takashi Shirogane. I’ve had half a crush on you for a year now. You were brilliant, on the football team, and you’re damn smart and you’re hot as hell, and I figured I might as well give the dating thing a shot. Even if it’s just a week, at least I’d get to go out with you.”

_Ah._

Shiro looks at Curtis again and tries to imagine going out with him. It’d probably be nice enough, in the way a lot of his dates are nice enough before Shiro inevitably lets them down easy. Curtis probably wouldn’t even resent him after the week is up, because he’d gotten to date Takashi Shirogane, even just the once.

He imagines going through all that – the dates, the awkward getting-to-know-you, the polite deflections about the accident and everything else – and then thinks about how easy it is, now, being with Keith. How comfortably they fit into each other’s spaces. How Keith’s wide, violet-grey eyes still make him feel a little knocked sideways.

It doesn’t help the restlessness that still weighs heavy in his chest, the way his emotions are still off-kilter. But it does mean he can turn to Curtis and smile, a little apologetic and a little sheepish.

“Sorry,” Shiro says. “I’m taken this week.”

“Oh.” Predictably, Curtis’ expression falls. “I – could I ask again on Monday?”

(Shiro hasn’t talked this out yet with Keith, he knows. Hasn’t yet brought up the way Keith keeps talking about an expiry date, about making the most of what time he has. Hasn’t even worked out for himself how he feels about this, about them.

Still, it’s an easy enough answer.)

“Sorry.” He’s been saying that a lot today. “I, ah. I don’t think so. But thanks. For asking.”

He doesn’t feel too bad about walking away.

 

Shiro spends the rest of the morning hidden away on the roofdeck of the engineering building. _Technically_ it’s not open to the student population – something about safety regulations and too many people coming up here to do stupid things – but the lock is notoriously easy to pick open. He likes coming up here to look out over the campus and have a little space; in the weeks following his return to school, it had been a sanctuary.

But being up here doesn’t quiet him as it usually does. The unease still picks at him – about football, about recovery, about what’s going to happen to him from now on. About Keith.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Speaking of.

 **k.kogane16** > _meet you for lunch?_

Shiro taps his phone on his thigh a few moments before responding.

 **t.shirogane14** < _I’m on the roof of the engineering bldg now if you’d like_  
**t.shirogane14** < _Could meet you somewhere else tho?_

He waits a bit, but there’s no return text from Keith. Frowning, Shiro sets his phone down, wondering if Keith had maybe got caught up talking to someone, or maybe gotten called away. But the minutes pass and there’s no text, and maybe—

“So you don’t play hooky but you break into the roof?”

Shiro snorts as he turns, already smiling at the sound of the now-familiar voice. Keith crosses the deck, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His hair is still damp from his post-game shower. Shiro remembers what it feels like under his fingers, the smell of Keith’s apple shampoo. He wants to reach out and mess it up again.

Instead, he just shifts over to make room for Keith on one of the benches that some other students had snuck up here, and clasps his hands together. “Do you even break _into_ a roof? Shouldn’t it be _out_?”

“Either, or,” Keith replies carelessly, tapping him lightly on the head with an elbow. He drops his bag to the ground and stretches his arms overhead, exhaling loudly.

“Good game?” Shiro asks. He hopes he doesn’t sound as sharp as the question makes him feel.

“Yeah.” Keith settles on the floor instead of the bench. He drops his head back, eyes closed. The bridge of his nose and the ridges of his cheekbones are still pink from the morning spent under the sun. “2-1 win. Got pretty tight at the end and I was sure Lance was gonna be sent off, but we hung in there.”

“Huh.” That’s – that’s good. It’s supposed to be good. Shiro’s hand closes into a fist over his thigh. “Did you score one for me?”

“Got both goals.” Keith’s mouth breaks into a half-laugh. His eyes crack open to peer at Shiro sideways. “Do I get a reward?”

Shiro shakes his head, fond and exasperated. “What would you even want?”

Keith makes a soft, noncommittal noise, head lolling back as his eyes close again. “I don’t actually know,” he admits, smile turned wistful. “I’ve only got two more days, so I should probably make it good.”

There it is again. Shiro frowns down at Keith, unsettled. “Why do you keep saying that?”

He sees the way Keith tenses, the sharp line of his shoulders and the measured exhale. “Saying what?”

“Talking about how much time you have left.” Shiro’s mouth twists. “This isn’t like – I didn’t give a _deadline._ ” He doesn’t, ever; it just… the seven days are just something that _happens._ But he isn’t deliberately planning to break up with Keith come Sunday.

(He maybe doesn’t want to break up at all.)

Keith goes quiet, then; he sits up, so Shiro can’t see his expression. Lithe fingers pick at a rip in his jeans, then his shoulders lift in a sigh. “It’s what you do,” he says, eventually, and there’s a sense of resignation in his voice. “I knew that, getting into this. Someone asks and you date and you break up. So I just – wanna enjoy it while it lasts.”

_Even if it’s just a week, at least I’d get to go out with you._

It stings, hearing it from Keith. No, more than that – it _hurts._ He’d thought Keith hadn’t come into this with the same presumptions as everyone else. But the way he seems so – quiet, so expectant of the impending due date; the thought that this is how Keith sees things between them… it hurts.

(Everything of today hurts. Everything’s just reminding him of things he doesn’t have, things he no longer has.)

He tries to remind himself to keep his composure, that getting defensive and pissy isn’t going to help, but he’s been on edge since waking up and now it feels like he’s tipping over. “Is that what you think?” he asks, clipped. “I just date people and dump them?” Surely Keith doesn’t think he’s that – heartless?

Keith looks around then, cueing in to the anger in Shiro’s voice. “No! No, just—” He breaks off, biting his lip. “I don’t know. You always break up with everyone afterwards, and I know, okay, I just – got mixed up and let myself—”

He stops again, glancing away sharply. His hair falls forward, hiding his face, but there’s no hiding the pained edge to his voice. And it grates at Shiro, because why is _Keith_ hurting when he’s the one who’s got things all twisted up. “You let yourself what?”

The other boy huffs in irritation, hunching up. “It’s nothing.” A hand pushes his hair back, then drops to his lap. “I let myself get carried away.”

Shiro’s frown deepens. “What—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Keith cuts him off with a shake of his head. “I just – got so caught up in being with you, and I didn’t know what to think, and you have Allura and everything and – just, it doesn’t matter.”

“What does _Allura_ have to do with this?”

Keith shakes his head again with a small laugh. “It doesn’t matter,” he repeats. “You just – you made it all so _real_ and I don’t know what to think, okay, I just—”

“I _made it real?_ ” Shiro stares, incredulous. “I’ve been nothing but honest this whole time, but you – you’ve been, what, just playing along?”

“I have _not_ —”

“Well you haven’t exactly been open, either.” Shiro gets up, too agitated to keep still. “How am I supposed to understand any of this when you’ve just been holding me at arm’s length? Or when you’ve apparently just been waiting for me to dump you, because that’s just what happens, isn’t it?”

The words come out sharp and harsh, just like his breathing. And Keith – Keith sits there for a few seconds before eventually huffing a short, fractured laugh.

“Guess this didn’t really work out, huh,” he says, ducking his head. And then Shiro watches, confused and hurt and frustrated, as Keith stands gracelessly and fumbles for his bag. “Sorry. I just thought—” He breaks off again, then his shoulders slump. “Anyway, it’s – it’s fine. You don’t need to call things off, I’ll just – I’ll go.”

Keith looks up at Shiro with a soft, wavering smile. “Thank you, though. For the week.” It feels like he wants to say something else, but then he just shakes his head a third time and turns away.

Shiro stays rooted to the spot for a moment, unsure of what had just transpired. Then he steps forward, says _Keith,_ because it feels like he’s missed something, like they’ve been having two different conversations. Because he needs to make Keith understand it _was_ real, it still is; that Shiro hasn’t just been playing along.

But he doesn’t get the chance, because the door to the roof closes and Keith’s gone.

 

Shiro ends up walking the way home to his apartment.

He’d briefly debated messaging Allura to see if he can hitch a ride – she’s usually on campus on Saturdays, studying in the café or the library – but he also wouldn’t be able to face her well-meaning prying and reassurance. She’d have too many questions he still doesn’t know if he can answer.

(And part of him still remembers her in the library, saying _if you mess up because you’re too busy being oblivious_. He could ask, but he also feels this is something he needs to work out on his own.)

He takes the longer way back, avoiding the area of Keith’s dorm, although he can’t really avoid thinking about Keith. It still has him pissed off – everything Keith had said, the way he’d seemed so resigned to the inevitable breakup. Shiro’s aware of the gossip that surrounds him, but that doesn’t warrant Keith thinking this, _them,_ had all just been some sort of game.

( _I let myself get carried away._ )

Shiro unlocks his door on autopilot, then drops his bag to the floor of the foyer. He slumps back against the entrance, scrubbing a hand over his face and sighing.

It isn’t fair, clearly. Shiro’s been nothing but warm and sincere towards Keith these past six days. And he’d thought Keith had been happy, with the dates, the small touches and affections. He’d meant all of it, everything he’d done, and not just because it was the proper thing to do. With Keith – it had _meant_ something, because Keith is—

Keith is the best thing Shiro’s had in a long, long while.

His head falls back against the door with a hollow thunk. Shiro shuts his eyes, fingers of his prosthetic flexing open-close, open-close. There’s a weight in his chest that he thought he’d finally lessened, but it’s there and it’s cold and he really doesn’t know what to do.

( _You made it all so real._ )

It isn’t fair. He’s been honest and well-meaning and he’d _told_ Keith—

Shiro’s next breath catches on an inhale because _oh._

Oh they’re _both_ idiots.

He understands, now – god, Allura really _is_ going to hit him for this, no wonder she’d looked at him that way. He’ll hit himself, and willingly, for being so obtuse. Because he’d never told Keith, had he; had never really _said._ Keith had been honest about his expectations – the seven days; the chance to be with Shiro, even for just that short a time. But Shiro had never gone and told him that this, _them,_ had turned into something more.

It still isn’t fair, of course. Keith hasn’t been fair, but he also can’t read Shiro’s mind, had no reason to think that everything they’d done together was anything more than Shiro being a proper date, as he’d always been before things broke off with everyone else.

They need to talk about this. Shiro knows they do; really, _properly_ talk about this, them, what they both want. And they’ll have to, soon, because it’s Sunday tomorrow and because Shiro has realized he doesn’t want to wake up on Monday and not be able to tell Keith _good morning._ Because Shiro gets it now.

Seven days really have been enough to fall in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEW have I earned my "miscommunication" tag yet? XD Next update might take a while since I'll be doing a lot of travelling over June/July + I gotta wrap up a bunch of other projects before all that, but I'll keep y'all posted! You can follow me at [@redluxite](https://twitter.com/redluxite) for updates and more Sheith content ^__^ Advance previews, WIPs, and any bonus content will be posted to [@aya_creates](https://twitter.com/aya_creates). Please support if you can!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ^ ^ Come say hi on social media – I'm [@redluxite](https://twitter.com/redluxite) on Twitter. I yell a lot on Twitter about AUs, HCs, and more WIPs. And ofc, all the ways you can support my writing!


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